Peace Was Never An Option II
by cheekyrox
Summary: AU-Sequel 6 months have passed since Cuba, and in that time the CIA has not made a single move against mutants...or have they? When dreams become nightmares, and nightmares transform into reality, hope is a difficult thing to defend.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **So we are back for the second Act of Peace Was Never An Option. I didn't mean for it to take this long, but, as I'm sure everyone knows, Real Life has this mean habit of taking precedence. With that in mind, there are a couple of things worth noting about this story.

_First of all_, Updates will not be as regular as they were for the last installment. I'm not talking months here, and they will still come in their pretty two chapter packet, but I'm thinking it'll probably be more like one update a week (the same day each time, if I can manage it) than one update a day. If I find the time, I may post extra chapters in between, but it will all depend on how things go.

_Secondly_, as the author, this story didn't flow half as easily as the last one. This is most likely because we are straying into action now, a genre I'm not as strong in as the more introspective Act I, not to mention delving deeper into AU. That said, the same warnings apply to this story as the last, I.E-AUness, probable smudging of creator's intentions for characters, shameless befuddling of timelines, and other nefarious author acts. I have tried to stay loyal to the characters as much as possible, but I write what I feel, so it is more than a slight possibility I will stray.

_Thirdly_, I have taken some liberties here with the introduction of new characters, mostly pertaining to ages. Given that several cameos in First Class deliberately ignored the canon of the other three films, I don't feel particularly guilty about that, but it is worth noting that by making characters younger/older there may be adjustments to their characterization. I have tried to keep the use of OCs to a minimum, so please excuse my adaption of characters to my needs.

_Fourthly, _I am eighteen, I do not live in America, and I have certainly never worked for the CIA or any other government agency. Please bear all three of those facts in mind when considering how realistic any of this might be. Considering the writers of the movie felt free to add in missiles that weren't actually _invented_ at that time, I feel I have a little leeway.

And _finally_, if you have actually read all that, I thank you for taking the time to hear my excuses. You are now free to read onwards, or flee in the other direction, whichever seems the wisest course of action to you :-).

**Summary: **6 months have passed since Cuba, and in that time the CIA has not made a single move against mutants...or have they? When dreams become nightmares, and nightmares transform into reality, hope is a difficult thing to defend.

**Quote: **"The past is a ghost, the future a dream, and all we ever have is now."-Bill Cosby

**/Prologue\**

**-Magnetic Misgivings-**

It was raining

That, above all else, stuck in his mind, even though he would rather it did not. He hated rain. He abhorred every last crystalline drop, every pattering splash, every tear those weeping clouds shed in imitation of those that had stained his face almost twenty years ago. It was a vehement dislike, formed purely by the rules of association when he was a child, never fading with time, and so here as his companion when he found himself face to face with another ghost that really had no place in his present life.

The gates looked exactly as he remembered them. Tall, foreboding, barbed, and cruel looking, designed to terrify those they entrapped, betokening the impossibility of escape. He had been on the wrong side of those gates more than once before, and the memory sprung to life in his mind as clearly as the unnatural bend of the metal beckoned him with the allure of his own work. They looked exactly as he remembered them, _the_ gates, remnants of old fear and rage leaping to life inside his mind.

"Beautiful, is it not?"

He knew that voice, was intimate with it in a way that even now horrified him, and it was with a slowly growing sense of dread that he turned to meet the gaze of the man to whom it belonged.

"Herr Doktor."

"So you haven't forgotten me after all," he smiled, a gesture with so little emotion behind it he may as well have never bothered. "Though we both know you've been trying hard enough." Striding forward smoothly, he paused mere inches from where Erik stood, rocking back and forth on his heels, his hands folded casually behind his back. "What's the matter, Erik? Are your new allies not proving to be everything you'd hoped for? It should not surprise you, really. With ideals so far apart, how was this little partnership ever going to succeed?"

"It's succeeding just fine," he responded before he had time to check himself. "And you are dead. How are you even here?"

"I am here because _you_ want me here." Shaw was as unconcerned by his hostility as ever, giving Erik an indulgent look that told him he should already know the answer to his question. "I am, after all, dead, as you said. So, really, there is only one reason for me to be here, and that is because you are having second thoughts. Are you wondering what you threw away, Erik?"

He raised his hand, and Erik blinked in mounting horror at the coin resting innocuously in the very center of his palm. Clean, silver, and without the blood that should have stained it. As he watched, unable to tear his eyes away, it rose slightly into the air, quivering and pivoting, dancing before Shaw as the madman eyed it with a wild light in his eyes.

"Are you beginning to wish you had taken me up on my offer, Erik?" He didn't turn away from the coin, and Erik found himself incapable of doing so either, until Shaw continued, and his words shattered the spell holding him in place. "That you'd driven this coin through _his_ head instead?"

"_No_." He did not feel the need to expand upon his denial, for that one word was absolute.

"Are you so certain of that?" This time Shaw's expression was knowing, and that terrified him more than the smile. "Take another look at those gates, Erik, and tell me what you see."

He didn't want to turn around, knowing that to do so would be conceding this battle, but he could not resist the lure that had been dangled so enticingly before him, and so he twisted his body away from Shaw and gazed, not upon the symbols of his past, but beyond them, to the place they denied him. A place he recognized with a sudden pang of anxiety, for the world it represented was not meant to brush against the darkness of the realm those gates belonged to. He never wanted the Estate he had come to think of as his home to be corrupted by the stain that was his history, and he whirled on Shaw in fury for even suggesting it.

"You stay away from them!"

"Look deeper, Erik," Shaw advised with utter tranquility. "I am not the one destroying this little false paradise of yours. Those gates are a symbol of _your_ past, not mine."

"You're lying." Shaw's way had always been deception, but Erik would not be fooled this time. "You're trying to get inside my head..." he paused, another question forming in his mind, and he had blurted it aloud before he even fully registered its presence. "_How_ are you inside my head?"

"I'm not," his antagonist shrugged lightly. "Not really. I am a symbol, Erik, a symbol of your own mind, and you, of all people, know the meaning of symbolism," he nodded his head at the coin, still spinning in the air, and gave a low laugh. "I told you we were the future, Erik, and you agreed. Why falter now?"

"I'm not like you," Erik insisted, doing his best to ignore both the coin and the gates, and wondering when this nightmare would end. He _had_ to be dreaming. He _must_ be dreaming. But if he was, how did he _know_ this was a dream? "I won't become what you want me to."

"You already _are_."

It was a statement, beyond reproof or question, and he reeled beneath the impact of the words, because they were an echo of something _he_ had said. _"Be the better man." _He could still hear the frantic desperation in the telepath's words, even though they were a mere echo of memory, whilst the recollection of the conversation from which that plea had originated reverberated behind it, a background noise, pulsing to the panicked rhythm of his heart. Frozen in place, he scrabbled for control again, unable to move as Shaw closed the remaining distance between them until they stood eye to eye, locked in an unbroken stare. Then the madman's face twisted into a smirk, and he spoke again.

"How long do you honestly think this little alliance of yours is going to last? You christened yourself, Erik, Frankenstein's monster, your creator's destroyer. You killed the person who made you into a killer, what are you going to do to the one who turned you back into a man?"

"Leave Charles out of _this_!" The snarl that left his lips was near feral, and he was forced to check himself, to remind himself that Shaw was _dead_, that there was no harm he could bring to the living.

"Oh, _I_ can't bring any harm to the living." Shaw read his thoughts, and that concept, even in this make believe world, was terrifying. "You, on the other hand..." he paused, the expression on his face more of a leer now than anything. "You've put a great value on his friendship, haven't you, Erik? The younger brother you never had, perhaps? The telepath and his _students_." The word was scathing, and Erik did his best not to bristle in defense. "Do they make you feel wanted, Erik? Do you enjoy playing the protector? They're children in all this, really, innocent to the twists and turns of reality. But you, _you_ who could take off their blinders, you who could show them the _true_ cause they should be fighting for, you insist on _supporting_ them in their heedlessness."

"I'm not you," Erik told him plainly, taking great comfort from the fact. "I'm not going to lead them all on a crusade they'll never survive."

"But you _were_ me, Erik. You stood on that beach in Cuba, you heard the humans wail, wallowing in their own despair, and you _thrived_ on it."

"No..."

"You're living a lie, hiding in the shadows on the whim of a man who doesn't have the strength to defend mutant kind."

"That's not true..."

"You could save them, Erik, you could save them all. With your powers, it would be so easy to rise up and rule. To govern the Earth as you were _meant_ to."

"It isn't..."

"But you're letting him hold you back. You're letting his ideal world corrupt you. You're letting him _control_ you."

"Charles would never..."

"Oh, Erik...You don't honestly believe he thinks such a future is possible? He's a mind reader, Erik, a mind _controller_. He's showing you the thing your heart yearns for, the unattainable Utopia you've longed for ever since you were a child, even if you aren't aware you still possess that desire. He may not be inside your mind, but he is still playing you for his own ends, for his own desires, turning your mind to his own end goal, rather than that you would have chosen yourself. Why wouldn't you step back into line, when offered everything you could possibly dream of?"

"I _don't_ dream of it." He'd had enough, and he cut through the other mutant's monologue with a harshness he had not possessed for months. "I _know_ it's an ideal, that _isn't_ why I stayed."

"You're so delusion." Shaw's tone was mocking now, derisive, showing clearly the disdain that was reflected upon his face. "But you _are_ right. It isn't his _ideal _that made you stay. You stayed _because _of him. Why? Do you honestly think he has the power to save you?"

Erik smiled, confident now that he had regained the upper hand. "I don't think," he responded levelly. "I know. Because he already _has_."

"And so your foresight fails you after all," Shaw shook his head. "Truly, Erik, I expected better of you."

"Then I'm happy to disappoint you."

"You never change!" the other man laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound, and Erik felt his blood run cold. "But you have forgotten, Erik, the reason it's taken you so long to find a place such as this."

"I wasn't looking for one."

"Oh, yes, yes you were," Shaw waved that argument off with a casual movement of one hand. "You tried, Erik. You tried to escape the nightmare, but everything you touched turned against you, so you resorted to vengeance to fill the void. It was like a _curse_, for a time you thought it _was_, but you're an intelligent man, and you figured it out in the end. It wasn't a curse, was it, Erik? It was just you."

"How did you know..." Erik stopped himself before he could finish uttering the words, sudden rage filling him as he straightened to his full height, using it to his advantage as he towered over the other man. "Get out!" he roared in fury. "Get out of my _head_!"

Shaw was undeterred, however, and he waited only for the wave of anger to pass before speaking again. "It is your belief, Erik, that I destroyed everything I ever laid my hands upon. So, tell me," he paused, reaching out to seize Erik's arm, spinning him about to face the gates again, and forcing him to gaze upon them, upon the sheer, unspoiled beauty they were corrupting.

"What, exactly, do you think _you're_ doing?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N. For those of you who have already read this chapter, it has been reposted. Don't worry too much, the content already up here has not changed, I just decided the next chapter was too big as it was so added its beginning to this one's end. :-)**

**Quote: "**It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers."-**James Thurber**

**/Chapter 1\**

**-Looking for Answers-**

"I don't understand _any_ of this."

It was a rare admission, particularly when imparted from the lips of a man most readily admitted was a genius, and all the more potent in its ominousness for that fact. For the most part, Hank McCoy was a fairly mild mannered individual, despite his outward appearance suggesting a nature much to the contrary, and the sheer frustration coloring those unusual words was an atypical release of pent up emotions. Though, in this case, he felt he was well justified in letting a little of it show.

Lying in pieces before him was the cause of that irritation, a million parts that, when assembled in the correct manner, formed a machine like no other. Cerebro was his pride and joy, one of his most successful inventions, second only to a plane that now lay in a broken wreck on a deserted beach in Cuba, and then only because he couldn't use Cerebro himself as he could the aircraft. The telepathic enhancer was his creation, he knew every inch of its design like the back of his hand, which was why he was at such a loss to shed light on the sheer _lack _of an explanation. If there had been a problem with the calibration, or anything else at all, he would have found it, but he _hadn't_, and he wasn't sure whether he should be relieved by that or even more concerned.

Sitting across the table from him in a relaxed position that showed no sense of alarm or concern was the catalyst that had led to his most prized invention being completely disassembled. Professor Charles Xavier; teacher, telepath, friend, mentor, leader, and so many other things to all of them that Hank couldn't even begin to name them all. The Professor was the reason for his current vexation, though he could hardly blame the older man for it, because pulling Cerebro to bits had been his idea, with a good deal of prodding from Raven, who had decided having her brother lose consciousness twice whilst using the machine was more than enough of a reason to pull it apart. Hank himself had not been able to disagree with that, considering he had concurred with just about every word she said, but his efforts had yielded him nothing, and the cause of this new phenomenon was as much a mystery as it had been before.

"There's nothing wrong with it," he declared, continuing on from his earlier statement, though this time his gaze drifted to Raven, not Charles. "Not a single thing."

"There _must_ be," Raven scowled, her stance immovable, a fact that had already earned her more than one long suffering look from her brother, though he had been wise enough to endure the majority of her sisterly administrations in silence. "You must have missed something."

"I've been over everything at least three times, Raven," he explained with forced calm, nearly at the end of his patience, and the lack of results doing nothing to improve his mood. "There is _nothing_ wrong with it."

"Then perhaps the machine is not the problem."

Resting an elbow on the table, with his chin cupped in the palm of his hand, Charles looked the most at ease out of all of them. Which he probably was, Hank recalled belatedly. He _had_ been the only one not to completely freak out over the blackouts, after all, which seemed ludicrous, really, when he was the one experiencing them. But, then, the rest of them still remembered the last time the telepath's powers had turned against him.

It was not an experience any of them were likely to forget anytime soon, for better or for worse.

"What do you mean?" Willing to take the bait if it meant a switch of focus from the bits and pieces before him to a more rewarding subject, Hank asked the expected question.

"We have assumed thus far that the problem originated either in the machine or me, its user," the telepath paused, drumming the fingers of his free hand absently on the table. "We have not yet considered the possibility the source of this problem could be external."

"You mean someone else, outside of the Estate, is causing this?" Hank uttered the words aloud, then took the time to consider the implications they formed inside his own mind. It was a possibility, and a sound proposal, really, when one considered they still had no true notion of how many different mutations might exist. Cerebro's function was to find other mutants, if one of those they were looking for happened to be able to sense and block the elevated range the machine gave Charles, then the outcome they had already experienced twice was to be expected. "But why? To hide from us?"

"There is more to it than that, I think." The Professor's expression was pensive, but lacking the distance it gained whenever Charles extended his abilities, letting Hank know this debate was solely internal. "I sensed something the last time, and cloaking their location was not the sole intention of whomever was responsible. They were doing some probing of their own, though what they sought to find I am not yet sure."

"Someone is looking for us?" Raven jumped to the logical conclusion, the one that had been lingering at the forefront of all their minds for the past six months, and the one Hank himself would have reached had she not made it there first. "Shouldn't we be readying ourself to evacuate the school, then?"

_The School_. Hank grimaced at her choice of words. Whilst it _was_ the name by which the Estate had become known, the cover they had chosen to maintain in order to protect themselves from anyone who might come prying, it still made this situation seem all the more grim. This place was full of children now, and any danger that presented itself to them similarly threatened the youngsters. Charles was not showing any great fear at the suggestion, however, so Hank allowed himself to relax slightly, that relief growing further when Charles' responded.

"Not yet, Raven, I don't think it has come to that yet." Shifting in his seat so that he was leaning against its back, Charles folded his arms, his gaze drifting absently across the equipment spread out between them. "I didn't sense a threat, only curiosity, determination at times, and, most predominantly, fear. They are striking back because they are afraid, not because they mean us harm."

Hank could practically see the tension bleeding out of the blue skinned girl, though her frown did not lessen in the slightest, and it was only a few moments before she spoke again. "But...the location of this blocker," she paused, uncertain, before pressing on. "Charles, _you_ were the one who said the CIA were active in the area."

"Exactly." Unperturbed, the Professor replied with an answer already prepared, "What other reason would such an obviously powerful mutant have for fear?"

"You think the CIA are after them?" It was not an impossible situation, but it wasn't a pleasant one either, and Hank almost wished he hadn't asked the question, because, if he hadn't, he wouldn't have received that firm, unquestionable nod in return.

"It is the most likely set of circumstances I can think of, given the close proximity of both occurrences. Though I suspect there is something else going on here too, something we are missing. I will know more when Cerebro is back as it should be."

"What?" Raven jolted visibly, the alarm on her face warring with the anger that sought to override it. "Charles, you can't use it again!"

"Why not?" The telepath's response was entirely too calm, and Raven's explosion was an inevitable reaction to that.

"_Why not_?" she repeated furiously. "How about it's dangerous, for a start? And then we could tack on a little note about how unutterably stupid you are for even suggesting trying this a third time!"

"We aren't going to get answers any other way, Raven," Charles placated her. "And, unless we find a way around this issue, we aren't going to be able to help anyone else. We need Cerebro, and, therefore, we need to solve this problem. Considering the vast amount of distance between us and whoever is causing this, a mental resolution is really the only one we are likely to get, even if the only thing we succeed in doing is locating them."

"That's not a good enough reason!"

The female mutant was practically seething now, her protective instincts manifesting into an icy rage that almost made Hank wish he wasn't in the room. A good part of his mind agreed with her, though, even as the portion left over recognized the validity of Charles' argument. Either way, this wasn't a battle he was about to become embroiled in, and he firmly focussed on reassembling the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle he had created, keeping half an eye on the two siblings as he did so.

"Knowing what is going on is not worth risking your health over!"

"Give me an alternative, and I'll take it." Charles' response stopped her in her tracks, the soft words holding a hidden note of steel that told Hank any argument on this matter was going to be pointless in any case. The Professor had already made up his mind, and, with Erik occupied elsewhere, there really wasn't anyone on the Estate with the power to change it. And to think he had been _glad_ when the metal manipulator left the mansion. "In the meantime, however, I intend to pursue answers in the only way I can. You don't need to worry, Raven. Aside from being far more intimate with the basement floor than I could ever wish to be, there is nothing to suggest a third round with our unknown adversary will cause any harm."

"You shouldn't do this alone," Raven persisted, chewing on her lower lip in consternation, before her eyes lit up suddenly. "What about Emma?" she suggested, already half way to her feet, though how she intended to summon the female telepath, who was as far beyond their reach as Erik, was beyond Hank. "She could help you."

"We can't both use Cerebro at the same time, Raven," Charles dismissed the idea immediately. "Trying to would only make the situation even more dangerous."

"There must be something..." she trailed off, groping for answers Hank doubted she would find. After a long moment of silence, during which no solution seemed to present itself to the shifter, Hank took it upon himself to offer a small sliver of comfort.

"If the same thing happens again," he began, the headpiece in his hands almost fully assembled now. "Then I think Erik should be told."

The look he received from the telepath in return was mingled surprise and pleasure, though he did not need to guess at the reason for either. Even if Charles appeared to have forgiven Erik for his actions on the beach, Hank had not been able to find it within himself to grant absolution just yet. He trusted Erik to keep his word, insofar as his promise to be more restrained in the future went, but the very fact that promise had even been needed, coupled with the shock of discovering what he was capable of in Cuba, had made it difficult to trust the metal manipulator in the same way they all trusted Charles. The Professor knew this, and had accepted it without question, but Hank knew it still troubled the telepath that this matter had not been resolved fully.

In truth, he probably had good reason for that concern.

Things had been strained these past few months, and not just between Erik and the others, but all of them as a whole. Hank wasn't sure what had started it, when the pressure exerted on them had caused them to start grating on each other as they did now, when Charles' ability to telepathically calm them all had become so vital to their day to day cooperation, but it _had, _and that was a fact no one could deny. One day they would be fine, working together in harmony as they had done before Cuba, anticipating each others reactions and needs perfectly, and then the next they would be at one another's throats, arguing about anything and everything, to the point where, sometimes, Hank wondered if Charles' intervention was the only thing that stopped their fights from turning into an all out brawl. He wasn't comfortable around Erik, but, if he was completely truthful, things had only gotten worse since the man departed to oversee their other work in progress, taking with him half of the whole that formed the core of their leadership.

Because, whilst he may not trust Erik's good judgement with the same absolute faith as Charles did, Hank _did_ know the magnetic mutant could be relied upon when it came to reeling the Professor back in when his mind jumped beyond the boundaries of his physical capabilities, just as the reverse was true, and he had no qualms about using Erik's influence if it became necessary. Charles probably didn't know that, though, and Hank sincerely hoped he had not just projected all of those thoughts. If he had, the older man didn't make mention of it, merely giving his head a slight nod in agreement.

"I think it will become a necessity regardless of the outcome," he said, a frown marring his tranquil expression. "A mutant that powerful, in the hands of the CIA, is not something any of us want to deal with right now. If it is a possibility, we should make moves to eliminate the threat as quickly as we can."

Hank didn't bother asking how they would do so, knowing it was something that would only be debated upon if it became a reality. They already had too much to worry about without adding theoretical problems to the mess they had yet to find a way out of.

A mess that, if he was brutally honest with himself, they might _never_ find a way out of.

**1st Class**

Sometimes, Moira wondered if she had made the right decision.

It was not exactly a thought that had kept her awake at night, because by the time nightfall actually came she was usually too exhausted to do anything but fall straight into bed and _sleep_, but it did linger in the back of her mind from time to time, usually when she was alone, and free to entertain such thoughts without interruption. It did not happen often, but sometimes she _did_ wonder, though she suspected it would surprise many people to know what choice it was that caused such debate in her mind.

Because she _didn't_ regret helping these people.

Never once had she looked back on her resolve to protect the Estate and all those it was a home to with any sense of doubt, knowing, even before she had made that decision, that it was the right thing to do. The mutants who had fought so hard for their lives and the lives of others were all good people, despite the shadows and hatred that clouded many of their pasts. Whatever events had shaped them, the end result had been, for the most part, better than many of those who sought to hunt them down and destroy them. So it was not the aid she had pledged them that gave her cause for second thoughts, but instead the manner in which she had chosen to do so.

Sometimes she wondered if it would have been better had she not stayed.

Oh, she knew she had helped them, sometimes with small contributions, sometimes with larger, but, trapped in their midst as she was, she couldn't help but notice how she stood out. She was _human_, after all, ungifted, without any of the abilities that helped ensure the survival of the others. She didn't mind that, she didn't mind being the odd one out, but there was a fear in the back of her mind. A fear that would not be ignored. A fear that told her she may just be the death of them. If she endangered any one of them because she herself was not a mutant, because she couldn't defend herself when it came down to the line, she would never be able to forgive herself. And so she wondered, at great length when the opportunity presented itself, whether or not she should have left months ago, when the choice had been made available to her.

When she might still have been able to tear herself away.

"Moira?" Startled by the soft call of her name, she looked away from the upper floor window she had been gazing out of, watching the students assembled on the lawn, and turned instead towards the speaker. Maneuvering his way through the furniture that had been stored up here, covered in cloth that itself was smothered in dust, Charles met her gaze with one of curiosity, and a small trace of concern. "What are you doing up here?"

"It was quiet," she answered simply, knowing the three words were explanation enough on their own. Since the number of people living here had grown so dramatically, it was a rare treat to find a place of complete and utter quiet below the upper floors, which had yet to be brought into service, their emptiness offering a fleeting chance for solitude and peace.

"Ah."

Moving to stand beside her, he followed the line of her sight down to the class below, almost twenty young mutants gathered under the collective supervision of Sean and Alex, both of whom were questionable instructors. Though they had matured over the past few months, it would have been a lie to say either of them could truly be relied upon not to indulge in some childish antics if the idea appealed enough, and they thought they could pull it off without drawing the dreaded wrath of Professor X down on their heads. Though it was more his disappointment than his anger that they feared, now that she thought about it.

"The garden is still intact," he observed with amusement. "You retreated early."

"They were working on powers, not the correct way to form a paragraph," she shrugged lightly, watching the older mutants guide the younger through the exercise. "I wasn't needed anymore."

The soft noise he made in response was acknowledgement, not agreement, and she chanced a sidelong glance at him in an attempt to read his expression, though she doubted doing so would offer her any real insight into what he might be thinking. Charles' mind was a turbulent sea of thoughts and emotions only the incredibly brave or foolish attempted to navigate without some guidance. Everyone else merely waited to be shown the way.

"Did Hank find anything?" Tiring of the silence, she broached the one subject she probably should have avoided at all costs. The telepath's reaction was subdued, a mere shrug of his shoulders, coupled with a few soft words.

"No," he answered her steadily. "I never really expected him to, but it was a possibility that needed to be disproved."

"You don't think Cerebro is the problem," she guessed, making the words a statement, not a question.

"Top marks," he smiled at her briefly, but it didn't take him long to sober again. "The problem was too big to ever be just a calibration issue. I'm being blocked, but not from seeing a single individual. Whole parts of the country are hidden from me, and that is more worrying than anything else. If we lose the only advantage we have right now..."

He didn't need to continue, because Moira was already well aware of how many close calls had not turned into an all out disaster because of the coordinates Cerebro gave them. The CIA may not be actively hunting mutants, but other people were doing their dirty work for them without needing to be told, and it was more luck than anything that more mutants had not been captured or killed before they found them.

"What are we going to do, then?" She said '_we_', even though she had no idea what she could honestly hope to offer them.

"Hank's putting Cerebro back together as we speak," he answered her quietly. "I'm going to try and figure out what this is one more time."

"And if it doesn't work?" There was no point in suggesting knocking himself out a third time was hardly the best course of action to take, because she was sure others had already tried that argument and failed.

"Then we'll have an answer regardless." The words were grim. "And it won't be a good one."

**1st Class**

Blood.

It filled his vision, surrounding him like a crimson sea, drowning him as surely as a submarine and a bay full of water would have done had it not been for the intervention of one man who was simultaneously infuriating, inspiring, and singularly lacking in common sense. A man with no firm grip on reality, not to mention a failure to understand the limits to what one could and could not achieve. No, that man did not accept failure, or handle it well when it inevitably came, but then, neither did he, so who was he to judge?

And the blood was still there, lingering just beyond where he stood, almost daring him to take the steps forward necessary to observe the source. He could_ hear_ that source without moving, the steady 'plunk' of dripping liquid, almost seeming to come from above him, though when he looked he could see nothing beyond the inky blackness. Strange, that the sky should be so dark when the fluid pooling about his feet was reflecting light back at him, allowing him to see his own reflection in its growing mass.

Drawing in a deep breath, he walked forward, registering the soft crunch of gravel beneath his feet, though, given what he knew he would see when he looked down, there was little logic behind the sound. It was not important, though, and he dismissed it, walking forward until he caught sight of the house, towering with all its usual eminence, but somehow seeming overshadowed. Something was wrong here, wrong beyond the liquid still swirling about beneath him, and, as the darkness gave way to a soft, gray twilight, the image before him was slowly unveiled.

The pristine appearance of the manor was mocking him, as were the undisturbed grounds, all as they should be, save for the bodies that littered the lawns, some draped over the balconies, as though their lives had been stolen whilst they were still in motion, their attempts to flee arrested by the coldness of death's inescapability. They were little more than children, all of them, youth's bright spark snuffed out prematurely, and he could feel the rage building inside him as his eyes sought the cause of this monstrosity, the familiar pulse of retribution reverberating through his veins, ready to unleash righteous anger on the perpetrators of this crime.

But he still hadn't found the source of that blood. Glancing downwards, he saw that it no longer formed a lake about his feet, instead adopting the shape of a stream that led him away from the gruesome sight on the lawns and around the other side of the manor, towards the courtyard, shielded from view by the stone walls, overgrown with creepers and vines.

Moving with the silent grace of the assassin that still lived inside of him, he crept along that wall, testing for enemies with his senses, but finding no trace of the metal that had caused this mayhem. Only once he was certain of that lack did he step into the courtyard, freezing the moment he had done so, for here, strewn across the stone like the discarded toys of an unruly toddler, were people he knew.

Hank's hulking frame lay mere inches from where he stood, the blood that coated his blue fur both his own and not, the claws on his hands chipped and stained, readily displaying the evidence of battle. A few feet away to his right Sean lay equally limp, the wings of his suit torn, and the unnatural way he lay leaving no doubt as to how far he had plummeted to meet his death. Alex had fallen with a youngster clutched in his arms, trying desperately to save the child's life, so that his embrace remained unbreakable even now, though neither of them would ever move again. Shaw's followers had fallen together, toppled like skittles, hands still reaching for one another, for Azazel, the one who could have saved them, but had hesitated too long to preserve their lives. Moira had met her end with her gun in her hands, the human weapon offering her no more protection than the mutants' powers, and she lay now on her back, eyes wide open and unseeing, torso spattered with the evidence of what was responsible for her demise.

Then his eyes fell upon the source of the steady flow, and his breath caught in his throat as the image of the young woman burned itself into his mind, her blue skin, hiding what would have been a pasty complexion, torn across her chest, the gaping hole only partially hidden by the shredded remnants of her clothes. She alone did not lie on cold stone, for her head was cradled in the lap of the one person still alive in this place, though, as empty, hollow eyes lifted slowly to meet his own, he wondered if 'alive' was really the right term to be using.

"Where were you?"

The words struck him like a shard of ice driven into his chest, and he choked beneath the weight of the accusation, unable to dredge up an answer with those deadened blue eyes, entirely without the spark that should have inhabited their depths, fixed with such condemnation upon his own. He lowered his gaze, unable to meet the other man's, but was forced to lift his head again when the telepath spoke.

"Erik?" There was so much pain in that one word. Pain, grief, torment, and_ betrayal,_ feelings soclear he experienced each one of them as though they were his own, despite the lack of telepathic projections. The other mutant was pleading with him now, seeking a reason he could not give, for he knew not what it was. "Erik, where were you?"

It was only then he realized, with a slowly descending veil of horror creeping its way along his consciousness, that the blood did not stem from Raven's still form alone. Charles' face was white, wholly devoid of color, his eyes sunken in their sockets, and the bright, crimson fluid dripping onto his hands contrasted deeply against his pallor. In terror, Erik started forward, hands reaching for the telepath, grasping a hold of the smaller man's shoulders as he desperately sought the cause of that flow. Espying the patch of bloodied fabric, he reached for it with one hand, using the other to steady Charles, though his fingers never found their target, his wrist seized in an icy grip that forced his eyes away from the wound and back up to meet the deadened gaze of the other man.

"Where..." He blinked, and clarity seemed to return to the ocean blue depths as they suddenly fixated themselves on his face, the emotions reflected back at him far too many for him to even begin to comprehend. "Where...were..."

His breath hitched, his grip on Erik's wrist suddenly going lax as his body pitched to the side, eyes blank, the light so recently kindled in their depths extinguished again.

"Charles?" His voice shook, wavering in the eery stillness as he reached for his friend a second time, only to freeze in mid motion as his eyes fell upon the object lying alongside the telepath, the silver edges of the bloodied coin shining brightly beneath the crimson veil that covered them. Horrified, he could do nothing but stare, and, somewhere deep within the locked vaults of his mind, Shaw began to laugh.

Erik woke screaming.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So I didn't get as much feedback on the first two chapters of this as I'd hoped to, a tad disappointing for me, but, hey, we beggars can't be choosers I guess. That said, thanks goes to Adrian Nox for the review, and to tefftmeister and Inibelg for the alerts. So long as one person is still reading this, I'm not going to stop posting. :-)**

**Anywho, right here in New Zealand it is Wednesday, the middle of the week, just short of midday. Cool, huh? I'm thinking this is going to be my set update day for the rest of this story, but I'll have to wait and see if it works out.**

**Quote: "**I have had dreams and I have had nightmares, but I have conquered my nightmares because of my dreams."-**Jonas Salk**

**/Chapter 2\**

**-Brewing Storms-**

"_What would your students think if they knew what a slob you truly are?_"

Erik jerked upright in his bed, wincing as his mind made the swift change from half asleep to full alertness with an unnerving jolt, and resisting the urge to raise a hand to his head to drive the woman's voice away only because he knew it would make no difference. Two months had given him ample time to become used to Emma Frost's customary wake up call, but, despite the longevity of this routine, he still hadn't become any more accustomed to waking up with _her_ in his head than he had been the first day it happened.

And _that_ was a memory that was better off forgotten.

Throwing back the covers on the bed, he shakily pulled himself into a sitting position with far more effort than it should have taken, staring blearily at the clock for a moment to reassure himself he wasn't truly any later than he normally was, before offering Emma a curt response.

_It doesn't matter what they think. _They_ know how to keep their thoughts to themselves._

"_Cute, honey._" What fear had kept the other three 'Rehabilitatees', as Sean had so tactfully named them, in line had unfortunately not transferred itself to Emma, much to Erik's chagrin, and so her response was utterly unrestrained. Not even four months in Charles' company had cured her of the sharper edges to her personality, and she seemed offended whenever anyone made an attempt to do so, leaving him to deal with two telepaths who were nearly perfect contradictions of one another. "_When you're done lounging for the morning, you may want to pay us a visit up here. We have a problem._"

It was all he could do to smother a groan, sending back a mental affirmation as he hauled himself to his feet, and stumbled with far less than his customary grace to the sink on the other side of the room. Accommodations in this place were still sadly lacking, but over sixty days of hard labor, much planning, and equally strenuous application of said plans had changed what had once been little more than a well endowed bunker in the ground to a feasible replacement for the Xavier Estate. Should the unthinkable happen, causing them to lose their first choice of refuge, this place would now be fully able of accommodating the original team, as well as the students Charles seemed to be acquiring at a frighteningly rapid rate.

It had taken them far too long to find this safe haven, somewhere close enough to the mansion to make a successful retreat feasible, but far enough away that their enemies weren't likely to follow them from one to the other. It had been one of the most urgent items on their agenda since their resistance movement first began to take shape, but all their efforts had proven fruitless on that count, and it had been Emma, Shaw's former right hand woman, who had led them to this underground shelter, a place Raven had taken to calling the Sanctum.

Despite his initial reservations about the female telepath, Erik had been forced to admit that, without her, they would have been missing several key components of their now flourishing Institution, yet another name Raven had chosen, declaring it was fitting in more ways than one. Shaw's Hellfire Club had not proven particularly picky about who was leading them, and, as Shaw's former favorite, Emma had easily slipped into that role, using the extensive informant network to its maximum potential. Shaw hadn't wasted his resources, and his spies had infiltrated many government agencies, both in America and beyond, giving them a direct line into the heart of enemy operations, and a perfect way to set up a refuge for mutants directly beneath the CIA and its sister agencies' noses.

Whilst the network remained intact they were able to identify and eliminate threats before they even formed, a useful asset, and one that had saved them on countless occasions in the past six months alone. So Emma had proven herself on that count, at least, though Erik still had his suspicions about _why_ it had taken her four months to _remember _this hideout. Charles hadn't questioned her when she brought the location forward at their last collective council, and had all but commanded Erik not to pry, much to the magnetic mutant's annoyance.

"_Her intentions were not ill, my friend. Let's leave it at that, yes?_"

Erik would have very much liked to argue that conclusion, but it had been their last conversation before parting ways to oversee their separate operations, and he hadn't wanted to leave an argument hanging between them. There had been enough of those in the last six months to last a lifetime. Enough for Erik to realize it would take a good amount of time before their relationship returned to what it had once been. Though the shared experience of Cuba, and everything that had surrounded that ill fated day, had brought with it a new sense of tolerance between them, it had also all but shattered what had existed prior to its advent, and it was going to take time to retrieve all those pieces. So Erik had let Emma's reticence slide this once, leaving them free to focus on other matters, without the shadow of yet another disagreement distorting their view.

With Charles so wholly occupied with Cerebro, finding new mutants, and taking care of those he had already acquired, and Erik himself fully employed with readying this new base for occupation, neither of them had had much of a chance for any but the briefest of conversations since, and those were only mental. Which had led him, inevitably, to the somewhat uncomfortable realization of how accustomed he had become to Charles' presence in his life, to the point he missed it when it was not constantly there.

Reliance was a trait he had drilled out of himself early on in life, learning to stand on his own feet tantamount to survival during his teenage years, so this new dependence, when he was so used to solitude being his only companion, was disconcerting. Though, not necessarily in a discomfiting way. It reminded him of his memories of family before Shaw, and everything that man had brought with him, and he blamed that reminder, _and_ this place, for the dreams that had plagued him for the last two months.

Though, in truth, they were more nightmares than dreams.

He had honestly thought himself rid of Shaw, had rejoiced in the fact he could finally shake off the mantle of oppression the other mutant had laid upon his shoulders, but that celebration had proven itself premature. Shaw still lingered on, a presence of evil in his life, a threat, no matter how obscure, to people he wanted nothing more than to protect. It was enough to reawaken old angers he had buried in Cuba, that lust for revenge that was so very dangerous, for it was the key to unlocking all the fury he had so carefully locked away. People tended to get hurt when that fury was unleashed, which was why his dreams terrified and infuriated him simultaneously.

Wasn't it enough, he thought bitterly, that the man had cast a shadow over his every move whilst alive, without continuing to do so once dead? The past was _over_, done and dusted, a mistake, a successful conclusion to a dark chapter of his life he just wanted to forget. Was that _really_ so much to ask? Splashing cold water upon his face to try and lessen the impact of his lack of sleep, Erik scowled at his own reflection, barking sharply at the shadow in his eyes.

"Stop haunting me."

There was no response, of course, and Erik felt rather ridiculous for expecting one, especially considering how disturbed he would have been had an answer actually been forthcoming. Tacking such random thoughts up to his own exhaustion, he reached for the leather jacket hanging by the door, putting it on with mechanical movements as his mind ran back over the images of his dream, searching for the hidden message amongst the horror. He was sure there must be something, some lesson he was blatantly missing time and time again, but the knowledge eluded his grasp just as surely as rest escaped him.

It was a routine he was tiring of swiftly, figuratively _and _literally.

"_Not all dreams have to mean something, sugar._"

He started, nearly jumping out of his skin, all his nerves buzzing with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Realizing, somewhat belatedly, that he was still alone in his room he frowned darkly at the woodwork on the door, before firing back a harsh response. _Stay out of my head!_

Emma gave a snort, or the mental equivalent thereof. "_It's not the people coming in you have to worry about. It's what's coming _out_. Anyway, hon, are you going to come and join in the fun or not_? _We're more than happy to start without you if you'd rather go back to dreamland again_."

Not dignifying that statement with a response, Erik swung the door open and marched out into the vacant hallway, the emptiness of this one corridor a fairly accurate depiction of how lonely an existence this place offered right now. There were only three of them here; himself, for obvious reasons, Emma, for her contacts in the network and the ease with which both her and Charles could communicate, and one of their older recruits, purely and simply because Erik did not trust the young man.

Orez was only fourteen, which, whilst making him still young, also put him among the senior group of mutants they had found, the only ones Charles would concede to training in any military sense. Erik had fought hard to achieve that much, so it was rather ironic he now wished the telepath would exempt Orez from that concession. He couldn't explain his unease, there was just something...off about the boy, and Erik had not felt comfortable leaving him at the mansion. Here, as one of only three mutants, Orez stood out if he did anything untoward, whereas, amongst Charles' expanding brood, he would have been near invisible.

Quickening his pace along the passageway, Erik mounted the stairs leading from the living quarters to their base of operations, settled into its position at the very hub of the facility. Everything about this hideout had been designed to aid them in any way it could, and Erik felt a little of his unease wash away beneath his growing pride at how well the Sanctum was coming together. It wouldn't be long now and it would be habitable, a milestone he was looking forward to with enthusiasm that surprised even himself. It had been a long time since he partook in something so constructive, and, were it not for the dreams, he would likely have found it quite enjoyable.

Reaching the apex of the stairs, he ignored the doors on his left and right, focussing instead on the archway that opened up into their 'council room'. The chamber had already been furnished with a large, oval table and chairs when they arrived here, and, given its central location, Erik had been unable to think of a reason to move it. There were no doors, of course, but there were plenty of other rooms that could be used if a private conversation became necessary, and, right now, the lack of any obstacles in his path gave him a clear view of the individuals already gathered there, awaiting his arrival.

Emma was, as always, the first to catch his eye, her very presence demanding that all due attention be paid to her before it shifted to anyone else. Seated, not on the appropriate furniture, but instead on the edge of the table, she looked completely at ease with herself and her surroundings, though the utter stillness about her form suggested she may be using her powers, most likely to keep Orez sleeping. She knew full well about Erik's lack of trust in that area, and, astonishingly, she seemed to share his reservations.

Leaning against the wall behind the table was another individual who was difficult to ignore, if simply because the bright red hue of his skin clashed against the dull gray of his surroundings. Azazel had been a regular visitor here over the past couple of months, routinely bringing them supplies and more news than Charles' brief updates offered. Out of all of Shaw's followers, Azazel was actually the one to have best assimilated himself to their new lifestyle. Though the restrictions about leaving well enough alone unless directly provoked had to chafe, he seemed to find the entire concept of this resistance interesting enough to be worth the sacrifice.

Or maybe he just preferred staying alive.

But, in the end, though both of them were equally attention grabbing material, it was not upon either of them that Erik's gaze eventually fell, his mind giving a brief start when he recognized the guest Azazel had brought with him. That surprise was quickly followed by a swell of warm anticipation, which was tempered by irritation he did not bother smothering as he stepped into the room.

"You couldn't have just _told_ me Charles was here?"

"If he'd wanted you to know, sugar, he would have done it himself," Emma responded to his annoyance with a casual shrug.

"You make a good point." Erik's exasperation switched targets, honing instead on the only person to actually be _using_ the seats around the table. "Why _didn't_ you tell me? It would have saved me having to listen to _her_."

"I have a headache." Well, there went Erik's hope that this was just a social call, or one bearing good news, at least. "And, by the looks of it, so do you. You look absolutely dreadful, my friend."

"It's nothing." Erik brushed off his concern without thought, so insistent in his own conviction he had almost managed to convince himself those two words were true. And, even if it wasn't quite 'nothing', this wasn't a matter he could talk about with Charles in front of the others, or at _all_ if given the choice. Confessing to Shaw being inside his head, or to the fact his mind had imagined his friend's death, was hardly a top priority on his 'admissions to make to Charles' list. "What do you mean you have a headache? Surely you didn't come all this way just to borrow some Tylenol?"

"I'm afraid not. It hasn't helped anyway," Charles grimaced, and Erik decided it was in his best interests to sit down. He really wasn't in the mood for any more unwelcome revelations about the future beyond those his own mind conjured up, with added flare from Sebastian Shaw, but this _wasn't_ a figment of his imagination, and, whatever threat Charles had deemed great enough to require him personally warning them needed to be dealt with immediately. "Someone is blocking me."

"You mean another telepath?" His gaze flickered momentarily to Emma, but the blond woman was still lost in her trance, and Charles was already shaking his head anyway, though it was clearly a motion he regretted soon after making.

"It's not quite that simple, Erik." Clasping his hands where they rested on the table, he frowned pensively at the metal surface. "This person is blocking me, _while_ I'm using Cerebro."

"That shouldn't be possible, should it?" He didn't pretend to fully understand the way Hank's invention worked, but Charles was already a strong telepath. With his abilities amplified by Cerebro no one should have been able to keep him out. Well, Shaw had, but that was another matter entirely.

Dear god, the man was invading his every second _thought_ now.

"It should not," Charles responded succinctly, jerking him away from that disturbing revelation. "Even if another telepath is responsible, one stronger than I am, they shouldn't be able to block me completely whilst I am using Cerebro. It is possible they would be able to keep me from their own mind, but they are not just doing that. There are miles that are just blank nothingness to me now, and if I try to get past whatever is keeping me out, it retaliates quite vehemently." He shrugged lightly, giving a rueful smile. "After the last time, Raven insisted I was not to try again until we knew more about what was going on, and Hank all but demanded I come and see you."

"The last time?" Erik picked up on the choice of words immediately, a sudden suspicion springing to life amongst his other whirling thoughts. "How long has this been going on, Charles?" _And why didn't you tell me before now? _The unspoken question was loud and clear, even without the need for telepathy.

"_Erik, where were you?"_

"It started before I was even aware of it," Charles admitted quietly. "Do you remember the week before you left, when Hank said Cerebro was playing up?"

"He thought there might be some calibration issues," Erik nodded, recalling the event quite well. He paused a moment, before deciding a little levity couldn't hurt, and adding, "We decided it was best to run a diagnostic, just in case we fried your brains."

"Yes." Charles gave him a dry glance. "I'm glad you remember the details of that conversation so well. As it turns out, however, what Hank thought was a calibration issue may, in fact, have been the beginning of this blankness. Cerebro was having trouble developing coordinates for a specific part of the world, and it only got worse. At first it was just like...like being in a darkened room, where you know where everything is, and you can see silhouettes, but nothing is clear. Now, though, it is like being blindfolded. I can't _see_, Erik, and that in and of itself may not be an issue, except that the area that is being blocked from me is where the CIA have been at their busiest of late."

"They're hiding something from us, then?" It was a disturbing possibility, specifically when one took into account they were somehow blocking Charles to do so. "What about our physical intelligence network?"

"Hank and Moira have been trying to get in contact with their liaisons," Charles responded instantly. "But everything is quiet on that front. _Dead_ quiet. Emma is checking in with the Hellfire Club's network now," he paused briefly, rubbing absently at his temple, before shaking his head. "They have nothing, either."

"That doesn't make any sense," Erik protested immediately. "We received news from there just a few days ago. If something was wrong, or even if they were having difficulty getting information, they would have told us."

"I'm not so sure." It was Emma who responded this time, her eyes finally losing their glazed look as she glanced at the two mutants seated at the table. "The informants within range are telling the truth, as they see it, but now that I know to look deeper, I think someone might have erased some of their memories. You were right," she nodded at Charles. "They have a telepath."

"The CIA are using mutants _against_ mutants?" Erik spoke with incredulity, before realizing it wasn't all that much of a surprise. They had done it once before, after all, but that was before the existence of mutants became public, and before the drive to exterminate them had even begun. That the CIA would still be using the very thing they had professed to the entire world was evil incarnate seemed an overly risky gesture, even for them.

"It seems that way," Charles agreed quietly, the pensive look on his face suggesting he was just as disturbed by this as Erik was. "If I could just get past the barriers, I might be able to find something, but nothing has worked so far."

"And you can't try again?" Erik prompted, only to frown when Charles suddenly decided that the tabletop was a far more favorable proposition than trying to meet Erik's gaze directly.

"I already have...thrice," he admitted hesitantly. "Cerebro kept on shutting down."

"_Cerebro_ kept on shutting down?" Erik leant back in his chair, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow dubiously at the telepath. For all his belief in morals, Charles could actually lie quite well if he wanted to, never actually _telling_ an untruth, but managing to deceive his audience anyway. That hesitation, though, no matter how brief, had given him away this time, and Erik wasn't going to let that by.

"Yes," he started to reply, but stopped himself when he chanced a glance up and met Erik's near murderous look. "Fine. _I_ blacked out, _then_ Cerebro shut down. Happy now?"

Erik simply stared, keeping his expression unreadable as he met the smaller man's defiant gaze, his voice low, and deceptively mild as he responded, "You passed out _three_ times _before_ you decided it might be a good idea to stop?"

"It was a mental attack." Was the argumentative response. "How else was I supposed to respond to it?"

"Emma." Erik chose not to answer Charles, turning instead to the female telepath, his look conveying whatever was lacking in his words. "I'd like you and Azazel to go and check on Orez."

Choosing, wisely, not to point out she could have just as easily done that from here Emma simply rose from her seat on the edge of the table, beckoning Azazel with a slight movement of her delicate fingers, and threading her arm through his the moment he came close enough to reach. A second later they were gone, and Erik was free to vent without the fear of witnesses, though Charles did his best to prevent him from doing so before he could even begin.

"Honestly, Erik, I was careful not to..."

"That's not the point!" Sitting still was making him agitated, so he rose to his feet, pacing back and forth along the length of the table in an effort to burn off some of the nervous energy that had gripped him, and to resist the dangerously strong urge to simply strangle the other mutant. An urge that was not at all abated by the knowledge they were arguing. _Again_. "Dammit, Charles! You should have _told_ me!"

"_Where were you?"_

"I didn't know the problem was that serious until a few days ago," Charles answered him, tracing Erik's movements with his eyes, then blinking sharply and stopping himself, looking decidedly nauseous. "I would have told you if I had thought it was."

"And it didn't occur to you this _might_ be serious the first time you lost consciousness?"

"Cerebro is an untested machine," he explained with forced reason. "We don't yet know what kind of side effects might result from using it. Up until recently, we thought the blindness was a calibration issue, and I didn't have anything to disprove that theory until the second time I..." he trailed off, clearly deciding it was better not to voice what had happened anymore than was necessary. "And the third time was barely anything at all. Once I knew what I was looking for, I wasn't given a chance to try and see anything."

It was probably the truth, Erik had to admit, for he himself had been there when the problem started, and knew what their initial suspicions had been. Charles already knew his psionic powers sometimes caused blackouts, so the assumption it had something to do with Cerebro's malfunction was not entirely unfounded. Even if trying again a third time when he had _known_, or at least _suspected, _what was going on had been foolhardy gesture, the telepath hadn't deliberately kept important information from him. It was _probably_ the truth, and he was most likely overreacting, but the remnants of his dream were still lingering at the back of his thoughts, an ever present aura of malice, and they had put him on edge more than he liked to admit.

He was going to prove Shaw wrong. He wasn't going to let the solace he had found here be destroyed as well, and he certainly wasn't going to let Charles kill himself through sheer stupidity. They had come too far now to lose everything to a few stray nightmares and a rogue mutant who may or may not have turned against their own kind. Erik wasn't about to take this lying down, he had spent the majority of his life fighting against various forms of Fate that sought to rob him of his life, this was no different, except that he had others to protect from death's reaching claws as well. And he _would_ keep them safe.

Just this once, he _would_ be the defender, not the destroyer.

"Erik, has something else happened? Something I don't know about?"

Charles' confused query broke through the haze that was clouding his mind, and he spun on his heel abruptly to meet the anxious gaze of the telepath. Charles was far more sensitive to the emotions of others than Emma, who, so far as he knew, read only thoughts, not the sensations and feelings Charles could experience in seconds should he choose to delve deep enough. That empathy probably explained how swiftly he had come to the correct conclusion, but Erik bristled anyway.

"Are you reading my mind?"

The words were an automatic defense, he knew. He was lashing out because this was something that had _scared_ him, and anger had always been his first line of protection. Charles, for his part, did not seem perturbed by the obvious hostility in that question, ignoring it, as he so often did when it came to Erik's more volatile moods, his lips quirking slightly as he responded.

"You are projecting quite vehemently, my friend," he answered calmly. Adding in a slightly puzzled, and, if Erik was not mistaken, wounded tone, "Except that you are projecting everything _bar_ what is truly on your mind. You know I do not read your thoughts without permission, Erik, there is no need to use your defenses against me."

"Not you, maybe," Erik admitted, forcing himself to relax, unwind, and switch off the soldier he had unknowingly unleashed. "Emma is another matter entirely."

"I thought the mental blocks kept her at bay?"

"From reading memories or deep thoughts, yes, but if I project anything, even if I am unguarded in my thoughts, she can generally pick up on the gist of what's going on in here." He tapped the side of his head by way of an explanation, earning himself a slight frown from the other man.

"Does it bother you?" Charles wanted to know. "I can try reaffirming the mental shields if it's a problem, or I could have words with Emma..."

"No and no," Erik shook his head, confident neither was necessary. "It doesn't bother me, Charles, not anymore, and you are _not_ to do anything with your powers until you're fully recovered from your last round with Cerebro's hidden nemesis."

"I've had worse."

That was a low blow, for both of them remembered the occasion to which he referred. Erik, however, did not allow himself to be distracted, answering with enough emphasis in his words so as to allow no room for doubt.

"_I_ don't care."

"You sound just like Hank," Charles grumbled without any real force. "Between the two of you and Raven, I feel like some kind of fragile ornament."

"It's common sense not to risk damaging your most valuable asset," he retorted smoothly.

"Charming." The Englishman's expression was more a grimace than a smile. "Honestly, I am not so breakable as you all seem to believe. You don't have to worry."

"We worry because we remember the last time, Charles." Remembered too well, in fact, with clarity that was painful at times. "It was not a pleasant experience."

"That wasn't exactly my fault..."

"No, it wasn't." _It was mine_. "But risking yourself now, no matter the reasons, is pointless, Charles. We are facing the unknown here, and the last thing we need is for you to cripple yourself a second time."

"Now you _definitely_ sound just like Hank."

"Good." Erik met the telepath's put out glare with a grin that was near feral. "I knew there was a reason I liked him."

"You _don't_ like him," Charles pointed out immediately. "The two of you are a war waiting to begin whenever you're in the same room without supervision."

"That doesn't mean _I_ don't like _him_, Charles, it just means _he_ doesn't like _me_."

Erik had to keep the regret out of his voice when he spoke, for the words were more true than he liked to admit. Though Charles himself had openly forgiven him for his actions in Cuba, offering him unquestioning trust he was not yet certain he deserved, the telepath did not speak for all the others, and not even six months had been enough for some of them.

Hank was not exactly openly hostile, but in his new, beast form all his emotions, particularly anger, seemed less controlled, and there had been several occasions where Charles had had to step in to prevent an all out battle between the pair of them. Alex and Sean weren't much better, to be honest, still as wary of him as they had been before Cuba, but now for a very different reason, and with the courage to confront him as well. Raven, for her part, still didn't seem to have made up her mind on whether he was forgiven or not. She was civil, sometimes even amiable, but at other times she would hesitate with an uncertainty that was painful to see. Moira, surprisingly, had chosen to follow Charles' example, treating him in much the same way as she had before Cuba; a sort of peaceful indifference, neither hating him nor befriending him.

After four months of enduring that awkwardness, and the frustration that came when it would not heal itself, Erik had been glad to escape to the Sanctum, if only to be given the chance to walk throughout the complex without being followed by the hooded glances of children who had listened in on conversations they had no right to.

"They'll forgive you eventually, Erik," Charles' spoke softly, carefully almost, as if fearful he would be scolded for reading Erik's thoughts again, though the metal manipulator was quite certain his expression had been telling enough all on its own. "It will just take time."

"I know." He shook himself, forcing his focus away from fruitless regrets and back to the matter at hand. "What do you intend to do about this, Charles?"

"The only thing I can do." The telepath did not blink an eye at the sudden change of subject, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his linked fingers. "I want to go to the blind point in person."

"Is that wise?" His council was more subdued this time, without the fury he had expelled during his earlier tirade. "What if it is a trap?"

"I don't think it is, not with the large area the blankness covers." Charles quickly set about allaying his concerns. "I believe all they are doing at the moment is trying to hide, and I, for one, would like to know what has made them go through so much effort. I doubt it is anything good for us."

"We're agreed on that count," Erik replied darkly, his lips thinned into grim line. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"I have a feeling you're going to regardless," Charles smiled. "But it was actually Emma I wanted. Her diamond form makes her impervious to any mental attack. Hopefully, that means she can shield anyone else who needs protecting if our presence gives rise to a reaction." Glancing around their surroundings, he was a silent for a moment, before speaking with a sigh, "It is just as well this place is nearly finished, my friend. I fear we will need it sooner than we think."

"Need it..." Erik felt his eyes widen in surprise, and almost cursed himself for his own forgetfulness. He should have remembered this sooner, the moment Charles mentioned their enemy was psychic. Bolting to his feet, he gestured impatiently with one hand for Charles to follow suit, finishing his sentence at the same time. "Actually, there is more truth in that statement than you might think."

Stepping towards the door, he spoke over his shoulder.

"Come with me. There is something you need to see."


	4. Chapter 4

**Quote: **"Mirror, mirror on the wall..."

**/Chapter 3\**

**-Mirrors and Mysteries-**

Charles followed confidently in his friend's footsteps, studying his surroundings with undisguised curiosity as they moved deeper and deeper within the Sanctum's heart. He had only seen this place once before, and that had been in its raw, unrefined state, nothing more than a brief glimpse to confirm its existence. Back then it had been all Stygian corridors and shadowy corners, hinting at the dark mind of the man responsible for creating it, and at the world it had been meant to inhabit. That former existence had been made a mockery of now, for the hallways he and Erik passed through were light and airy, so much so that it was almost possible to forget they were underground, well hidden from all prying eyes.

Finding this place when they had had been a blessing, a stroke of luck they had been in desperate need of. The CIA, for all its public decrying of mutants, had not made any concerted effort to eradicate them from American soil, picking up the odd mutant here and there, but usually as the result of happenstance, rather than any actual planning. But, for all the lack of an official threat against their kind, the public opinion against mutants was such that it really made no difference.

No mutant was safe, not on their own, and so safety was exactly what they sought to provide. The Estate had been modified to that very end, every possibility they could think of examined at great length until a way to defend themselves against it was found. It had taken time, and a lot of work, usually executed late at night or in the small hours of the morning, but the end result of all that had been worth the concerted effort that went into its construction. The mansion had been made safe, as impermeable as it could possibly hope to be, and with that safety had come security, stability, and a sense of solid footing beneath them once more.

But something had shifted again recently, a gradually increasing menace to what peace of mind the modifications had given them, and this new weapon against his telepathy was merely the final straw, so far as he was concerned. The CIA were just too silent, too lax in dealing with this threat. They _had_ to be doing something, and he did not intend to be caught by surprise. The Sanctum and the carefully laid plans to retreat to it should it become necessary were the only true line of defense they had against a full on invasion, so it was a relief to see it finally taking shape, even if that relief was severely hampered by the other, newer concern now lingering at the back of his mind.

Erik was hiding something from him.

That, in and of itself, didn't sound all that terrible, even inside his own head, but, coupled with the metal manipulator's uncharacteristic edginess and the feeling of unease churning inside his own stomach, Charles' felt fully justified in being somewhat unsettled by the realization. Erik _was_ hiding something from him, something important, something of enough significance that he felt the need to purposefully deflect Charles' gift, even though the telepath had never intended to read his mind in the first place. Quite frankly, he didn't _need_ to. Erik's behavior alone was enough for him to know that something was wrong, and the shadows clearly showing beneath and _in_ his friend's eyes, exhaustion fueling a temper that was not always restrained at the best of times, removed any and all doubt he might have had.

Much had changed in the last six months, and not just the obvious changes, those above the surface, but the deeper, more meaningful adjustments that had been made to accommodate their new state of life. Ever since that night their minds had melded to relive the disaster that was Cuba the pair of them had shared a deeper connection, a sense of understanding that had been lacking, even before the world turned against them. Charles had always taken the insights he had into the characters of others for granted, so it had come as a surprise to him the great difference giving Erik an insight into _himself_ had made.

The metal manipulator was far more forbearing of Charles' more passive inclinations now, stepping back, no matter how reluctantly, when he was asked to. It was a large concession for a man whose entire life had been based around violence, and Charles acknowledged that by never taking advantage of the faith that had been placed in him. Erik's trust was a gift he cherished, for he knew full well how hard it was to earn, which was why the magnetic mutant's current behavior was so wounding. A door once open to him had been closed harshly in his face, and he didn't even know what he had done to provoke such a reaction.

Erik looked haunted, and Charles had no idea why.

Efforts to coax an answer out of the other man had proven themselves futile, for Erik either brushed him off or snapped at him whenever he attempted to do so, and pushing only made things worse, edging them closer to the precipice of yet another verbal war. It wasn't that their partnership had been devoid of arguments before now, for it most certainly hadn't, their differences still forming a great barrier at times, but the last thing they needed with this new threat looming on the horizon was a further lack of cooperation. So he had been forced to abandon the matter for the time being, though it was most certainly _not_ forgotten, in favor of focusing his full attention on the less invisible problem on hand.

Not, of course, that their current predicament was any easier to _see_.

That was, perhaps, the most disturbing thing about this entire affair. A danger that could be seen, identified, challenged, and overcome was something he understood, something he would have gladly faced without fear, because it was the type of peril he had been expecting. The enemy their students were being readied to face. This lurking sense of malice, a shadow hidden away in the corner of their world, was all the more intimidating for its lack of visibility.

How did one fight something one could not see? It was like striking at reflections on the wall that moved with the sunlight, never still long enough to catch, but always present, just beyond reach. Initially, he had only been able to sense it whilst using Cerebro, a disturbance, nothing great, just a small cloud marring a beautiful, blue horizon. That cloud had become a thunderhead now, a roiling mass of barely restrained darkness, and, having touched it three times already, his mind readily marked its presence even without Cerebro's added strength.

Something, _someone_, meant to bring them to harm, he could _feel_ it.

"Charles? Charles!"

Startled out of his thoughts by Erik's persistent calling, he blinked his way back to awareness, realizing immediately that he had ceased walking, which probably meant Erik was well justified in staring at him with a mixture of exasperation and concern.

"My apologies, my friend." Trying to shrug the spell off, he strode forward to catch up with the other mutant. "I was a million miles away."

"Yes, I noticed." Erik's reply was deadly serious. "It was what you were doing there that concerns me."

"It was nothing." Erik opened his mouth to argue, but before he could utter a word Charles had added the strongest deterrent he could think of, "And, unless you intend to tell me what it is that is troubling you, it will _remain_ nothing."

The glare Erik gave him was mixed with a sort of grudging acceptance, and, after a brief silence, during which the pair of them simply stared at one another, willing the other to back down, he nodded, jerking his head in the direction of the doorway to which they had originally been headed.

"If you can keep your mind in the present for more than a few moments," he said blandly. "I _do_ have something to show you."

Charles' swallowed his disappointment at the metal bender's continued refusal to confide in him, reminding himself there would be time to address this issue later, and responded with the blandness that would have been expected under normal circumstances.

"I had guessed the reason you dragged me down here was not to admire the improved decor."

Shrugging off Erik's bad mood, which only seemed to have grown worse the longer they spent together, Charles started for the door, knowing Erik would follow him without needing to check. They were in the lower levels of the Sanctum now, three floors down from where they had been discussing the potential threat from the CIA, and here, more than anywhere else, in the dark recesses and dim corridors, the sheer amount of work that had gone into making the upper levels more hospitable was in evidence. Both floors above this one were a far cry from the eery surrounds now pressing in on them both, and Charles made a mental note to ensure none of the children ever came down here until that was remedied. They had enough nightmares to contend with as it was, without adding this encouragement to their imaginative minds.

They had reached the door by now, and Erik was already reaching for the handle when he hesitated, a brief look of uncertainty flashing its way across his face. Charles wasn't actively trying to read his mind, but he could still sense the flares of sudden doubt that had arisen amongst the other mutant's thoughts, as if he was only now wondering if this was such a good idea after all. Realizing nothing was going to happen unless he made it, Charles took a step closer to the innocent barrier, focussing his gaze intently on his friend as he attempted to read the taller man's face, a skill he was nowhere near as adept with as his more natural talent.

"Erik?" he prompted at last, deciding not to venture more until he had a clearer insight into what had caused this hesitation, and startling the magnetic mutant back into motion.

"We found this when we first explored the facility," he responded tonelessly, swinging the door open as he spoke. "I thought you should see it."

Swallowing the irrational fears Erik's hesitation had given birth to Charles obediently stepped within the dark space beyond the door, blinking sharply as the lights flickered on and the room's contents became visible. It was only then he realized what had caused those doubts to form in Erik's thoughts, and, in the small part of his mind that was not consumed by complete and utter shock, it registered that those doubts had not been unfounded.

Mirrors.

The room was lined with _mirrors_. Their reflective surfaces covered every wall, the floor, and even the ceiling, as well as the inside of the door still open behind him, Erik hovering anxiously in the opening, as if afraid Charles would simply turn and bolt given the chance. Which, Charles thought inwardly, was ridiculous. He could barely even _breathe_ right now, let alone attempting a sprint for the door.

"Emma seemed to think Shaw had this place prepared as a base of operations for events following Cuba," Erik explained quietly. "He wasn't fool enough to think all mutants would happily bow down to his rule, and so he had this facility built to deal with any who might resist. This whole floor is filled with triggers and defenses against a mutant invasion. If it hadn't been for Emma, I suspect even I could have become caught in one of them. The floors below this are almost a replica of the upper levels, but we haven't explored them properly yet. With all the work we were doing on the top floors, I'd almost forgotten about this room, but when you mentioned the CIA might be using a telepath against us..."

He trailed off, plunging the room back into silence, though Charles did not need to see his reflection in the mirror to know that Erik was watching him closely, clearly uncertain as to what sort of reaction he had just provoked. He did not blame Erik for that uncertainty, because he himself was not sure what his reaction was, or what it _should_ be.

He had never stood in this room's predecessor, not in person, anyway, but the affect it had had on his telepathy, that _blindness_, had been more than a little disconcerting. Up until then, he had never been blocked by a _thing_, a person, yes, Emma had made sure of that, but never something less than sentient. It had been a shock to realize there was a way for someone to block his gift without being a telepath themselves, and the mirrors that now surrounded him, just like the helmet that had done an equally adequate job of rendering him useless, were as discomfiting to him as he imagined physical bonds would be.

Swallowing sharply, Charles forcefully pulled himself together, pointedly reminding himself that this room was _not_ the one he remembered seeing through another's eyes, and it certainly didn't hold anything that might harm him. There was no Shaw locked away inside this room waiting to unravel the carefully woven threads of his life, no matter how indirectly, and there were no ships lurking outside, waiting to shatter whatever the madman had not already managed to destroy. Waiting until he was certain his voice would remain steady, he straightened slowly, uttering just three words with complete and utter calm.

"Close the door."

Erik jolted, a brief flash of alarm registering on his face, before it vanished beneath an immovable mask. Without a word he turned to comply, closing the door gently but firmly, the motion swift enough that the change, when it came, was not gradual.

The silence that fell the moment the door was closed was deafening, complete noiselessness to an extent such as he had never experienced before. The sudden loss was staggering, and he stumbled, reaching for the wall with a hand to steady himself against the wave of dizziness that came with the abrupt cutting off of all his extrasensory perceptions. Struggling to reorientate himself he instinctively reached out for the only mind still accessible to him, not penetrating, for that was something he had sworn never to do to a friend, but instead grasping a loose hold of the edges, the reassuring contact with another's consciousness easing the disorientation that had struck him so unexpectedly.

"Well," he remarked, once he felt well enough to stand on his own again. "That was fun."

"I wouldn't call your frantic scrabbling around in my mind 'fun'," Erik retorted. "You're lucky Emma warned me what to expect, or I would have just deflected you."

"She warned you, but you didn't think to do the same for me?" Charles fixed Erik with a glare, to which the other mutant merely shrugged.

"I assumed you knew."

"I did," he admitted, breathing out a sigh. "Or, at least, I guessed."

He had needed to feel what it was like, to _know_ what might happen if he ever became trapped in one of these. The CIA did not know about the mirrors or the helmet, but that did not mean they would always be so ignorant, and he needed to know how he would react if this ever became a reality. And to think, he mused grimly, that there had once been a time he would have done _anything _for this complete and utter quiet, yet, right now, trapped _inside_ the void, he was fairly certain Erik's presence here with him was the only thing preventing him from panicking outright.

Losing one of his senses, even one most people didn't have, was not an enjoyable experience.

"I don't understand, though," he broke the silence, seeking an audible distraction from his mental disequilibrium, but determined, at the same time, not to back out of the challenge he had unwittingly unleashed upon himself. It _may_ never happen again, but he _needed _to be prepared if it did, and with that in mind he loosened the connection he had formed with the metal bender to ground himself, keeping only a tentative hold, and enduring the void as best as he was able. "Why create a room that doesn't go anywhere? It's not like he has a nuclear reactor stashed in here."

"Not a reactor, no," Erik answered him, clearly amused by the thought. "It's something much more valuable to us than that."

Moving to the center of the room he extended a hand, waving it back and forth slowly, palm flat, as he carefully felt his way through the metal below them. Charles had seen him do this before many times, so he was not at all surprised when a section of the glass panel suddenly lifted, revealing a set of stairs that had been secreted away beneath the floor, leading down to the lower levels Erik had spoken of earlier. What did surprise him, on the other hand, was that even now his telepathy was blocked, which had to mean...

"All the lower levels are lined with mirrors," he realized. "If the students were kept below this floor, not even I would be able to find them. This is excellent news, my friend."

Even as he said the words, however, Charles became aware of the other thing he had missed in his moment of adjustment, and that was the sudden disappearance of the menacing cloud he had identified earlier. Whilst he was grateful for the emptiness that now filled its place, the implications behind its vanishing were not lost on him.

"Oh dear."

"What?" Erik turned to him, and the look on his face told Charles quite clearly that this was an answer he was not going to be able to avoid giving. But, how to explain what he had sensed in a way that would accurately convey its importance? The answer was, of course, obvious, and he raised a hand towards his temple as he spoke.

"May I show you?"

Erik nodded his assent, and Charles didn't hesitate to make the connection again, linking their two minds with practiced ease as he showed Erik what he had been sensing ever since he last used Cerebro. Revealing the lingering aura of malice that had stayed with him, that, only now, in this place where no telepath could reach them, lost its place in his mind. Erik endured the link in silence, expression remaining unchanged, and only once he had dropped his fingers from his temple did the magnetic mutant offer him a response.

"What do you think it means?"

"I think it means our enemy is far stronger than we initially believed. Strong enough, at least, to implant something in my mind without my knowing it," Charles frowned, more shaken by that revelation than he had been by the room itself.

He had never defended himself from a telepath before, not properly, anyway, because Emma had not been a challenge, without the mental strength to truly threaten him, her skills more focussed on defense than offense. This was something different, something far more dangerous, and he was not so certain he could protect himself, or anyone else, from this. Whomever was responsible had managed to reach him even whilst he was using Cerebro, such an adversary was not to be taken lightly.

"Far stronger, or far smarter, I wonder?" Erik muttered, continuing once he realized his uttered thoughts had caught Charles attention. "You said it yourself, Charles, Cerebro is an untested machine. How are we to know what affect using it has on your shields? We assumed our enemy was powerful because they attacked whilst you were using the machine, but what if they simply realized you would be vulnerable at that time?"

Charles frowned, well aware Erik's words were probably more accurate than either of them would like. In truth, Cerebro's lack of testing had nothing to do with how good his defenses were whilst using it, it was he who was still adjusting to controlling his abilities with the added power the machine gave him. _Expanding_ his telepathic powers had never been a goal before, prior to the events that had led to the revelation of the existence of mutants, his intentions had always leant towards constraining his power, stuffing it as far away as it would go so he would not have to listen to the thoughts of the hundreds of people surrounding him. From time to time he had used his gift on individuals, or small groups, but he had never attempted to reach multiple minds over a great distance.

One mind perhaps, that he knew well, like Raven or Erik, but never more.

Cerebro, on the other hand, was exactly the opposite. It enlarged his range well beyond what any natural expansion could have achieved, and he had been so focussed on seeking out the individuals it revealed to him that he hadn't thought to try and shield himself until the first attack happened, and by that point it had been too late to attempt to get a handle on his barriers whilst attached to Cerebro. He didn't know how to extend his abilities and his shields at the same time, how to hide and seek simultaneously, and now, it seemed, they were paying for that lack. Even so, he could not help but feel slightly disgruntled by all this, because they _had_ taken precautions.

"In order to do that, they would have to know about Cerebro to begin with," he pointed out, still scowling. "Nobody should have that knowledge. We erased all possible evidence of its existence."

"We seized the physical evidence and you wiped the minds of everyone present at the CIA the day you rescued Emma," Erik reminded him. "That does not mean we covered every possible avenue. There may have been others with knowledge of Division X and its activities we did not know about."

"Why didn't we think of all this before?" Charles was mortified by just how much they had miscalculated. "If we've all been exposed because of this..."

"Then we will have been exposed," Erik cut him off, the matter of fact tone to his words a deliberate insertion on his part. "It would have happened sooner or later, Charles, and we are lucky it was later. At least now we have somewhere to retreat to should we need it."

"Yes, of course." Erik was right, Charles knew, and, anyway, now was hardly the time to be brooding over past mistakes. "We should go. Hank and the others will be waiting for an update. Will you bring Orez back with you?"

"I'd rather not leave him alone. He can stay at the mansion." It was a curt, and predicted, response, to which Charles could only sigh.

"He's just a boy, Erik."

"He's dangerous, and if you refuse to see it then it becomes my responsibility to ensure he doesn't cause harm. That was our agreement, and you should learn to trust my judgement."

"I do." Charles wouldn't have the other man thinking differently. "I just can't see how Orez could possibly pose a threat to us. I've read his mind, Erik, there is nothing there to give credence to your suspicions."

"_You_ were the one who said telepaths could be blocked," Erik told him pointedly. "And this matter is not up for debate. When I am satisfied he is as harmless as the rest of your students I will stop watching him so closely, until then I shall continue on as I already am, and nothing you can do or say will change my mind."

"Life carries on as normal, then," Charles grinned, not making any attempt to hide his amusement, for he was well aware what moments of levity they could find needed to be grasped and held onto for as long as they lasted, few and far between as they were now. "I believe I would have more success in making the general populace believe we are as harmless as a kitten, _without _the use of telepathy."

"Even kittens have claws, Charles." Erik's expression was grim, and Charles threw him an exasperated glance that was reflected a hundred times over by the mirrors surrounding them.

"You are such a cynic."

"And you are a romantic. I think that makes us just about even."

With a wave of his hand, Erik lowered the trapdoor back into the floor, hiding the evidence of the lower levels, before making his way to the exit. It was the last opportunity Charles was likely to get before reality overwhelmed them with its needs once again, so he risked arousing the other man's ire one last time.

"Erik..."

The magnetic mutant froze, his hand outstretched, reaching for the handle, whilst his gaze met that of Charles' reflection. The telepath did not need to speak further, for that single word had been all that was needed for Erik to understand the question that was being posed, even if he waited so long to respond that Charles almost started to believe he had been misunderstood.

"It will keep for now," Erik shook his head, dismissing the unspoken concerns as he opened the door to let the outside world come crashing back in.

Charles, who barely had time to brace himself against the sudden influx of information, wasn't sure which hurt more; the sudden return of his telepathic powers, or the realization Erik didn't, _wouldn't_, trust him. Because, in the end, Erik didn't need Shaw's helmet to shut him out.

He was perfectly capable of doing so all on his own.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Sorry about the slightly late posting guys, I've been insanely busy lately, and I needed to find the time to proofread these chapters one more time before I posted. Apologies aside, I would also like to remind all readers that this is AU, in both terms of the story itself, and the characters inhabiting it. Creative license _has_ been taken, consider yourselves warned. :-)

**Quote: **"Can you really forgive if you can't forget?"-**Sarah Jessica Parker**

**/Chapter 4\**

**-Ghosts in the Garden-**

Angel Salvadore had spent the majority of her adult life in clubs not unlike this one. Places of music, flashing lights, and various individuals looking for a good night out. It was an atmosphere she was intimately familiar with, a world she knew inside out, but never before had she seen it from this angle. The Hellfire Club Headquarters was a far cry from the smoky, murky world that Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr had plucked her from over half a year ago, possessing an air of sophistication, of _style_ that went beyond what she had experienced before. The essence was still essentially the same, but the differences were jarring, and it had taken her a long time to adjust to the role of hostess fate had ordained she was to play.

No. Not fate, actually, but Charles Xavier.

Adjusting to life back...back in that place she no longer remembered more than a few vague details about had been difficult for her, perhaps even more difficult than it had been for Riptide and the others. _They_ had already been working for Shaw, after all. They were a constant, secure and set in the roles the others had formed for them. She, on the other hand, had chopped and changed, had walked out on them at the crucial moment, and had, however inadvertently, been the cause of Darwin's untimely demise. So she had been sidestepped, avoided, shunted off to the sidelines, and she had been too full of shame and guilt to defend herself against such treatment, not at all certain that she didn't deserve it.

She had been ready to run, to cry, to flee all this because confronting it was just too hard. She wanted forgiveness desperately, a place where she could feel safe, as she had never felt before, but the security the others so eagerly grasped themselves was denied to her. She had been close to breaking at that point, close to throwing it all away, knowing she had spent all her second chances. But something had stopped her as she stood, teetering on the brink. Or rather, _someone_, and Angel still wasn't entirely sure _why_.

_She closed the door silently behind her, edging away backwards along the gravel path, the features of the structure hidden by the shadows of night. There were no lights showing in any of the windows, for she had made certain everyone else who might notice her departure was asleep before she had even tried making it down the stairs. After ten steps in reverse, the tension in her body faded away, replaced by a mixture of elation and sad resignation, both attributed to the ease with which she had escaped. A part of her prayed no one would notice, the other part begged that they did, and she was torn between the two, knowing, even as she wavered, that it was not a choice she got to make. Turning around slowly, she set her shoulders and lifted her head high, prepared to march away with dignity, before leaping in fright when a smooth voice addressed her from the darkness._

"_I will never understand the way you people believe creeping around in the dark will help you go unnoticed." Swinging about in shock, she froze in dismay as she watched the telepath emerge from the shadows, his expression unreadable in the muted half light, his silhouette as hazy as the building framed against the night sky behind him. Despite that, however, his smile was clearly audible in his voice. "I read minds, my dear, not footsteps."_

"_P-Proffessor?" The stutter in her words was by no means due to the chill of the night air. "I was just..."_

"_Oh, I have a pretty good idea of what you were doing." Walking forward casually, his hands shoved into his pockets, he came to stand beside her, not looking at her, but at the the picturesque scenery before them, just visible in the muted moonlight. "What I'm not so sure of is why." He turned to her then, and she found herself captivated by vivid blue eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark. "You're a smart girl, Angel, surely you must realize that running never solves anything."_

"_What else am I supposed to do?" She hadn't meant to sound so desperate, so _needy_, but she couldn't bite back the words or the tone in which they had been uttered now, and so she forced herself to continue. "I'm not welcome here."_

"_Perhaps not," he agreed calmly, much to her distress. "But, before we go making any conclusions on that count, might I ask you a question?"_

_She hesitated before assenting, wondering if this was some sort of trap, designed to give her hope and then rip it out from beneath her as punishment for her treachery. Because, even if he never seemed hold it against her the same way the others did, she had betrayed him as well. In the end, though, she was too desperate to _not_ take what might prove to be a chance of redemption, and so she nodded, earning herself a small smile in response._

"_Why do you think the others are angry at you, Angel?"_

"_I...I _left_!" she stared at him in disbelief, though he returned the look with absolute calm, prompting her to continue. "I walked out on them, on _you_, even after what Shaw did to Darwin. Why _wouldn't_ they be angry with me? They've barely spoken to me in the three months I've been here, isn't that reason enough to believe?"_

"_I dare say it is," he nodded, moving his hands from his pockets to clasp them behind his back, exhaling slowly with a breath that formed a misty cloud in the chill atmosphere. "What confuses me, Angel, is how you think running away a second time is going to help."_

"_I'm not welcome here," she choked on the words, almost sobbing,and forced herself to add the more absolute truth. "I'm not _wanted_ here."_

"_They're angry at you, Angel." She jumped when a gentle hand landed upon her shoulder, gazing up into eyes filled with more compassion than she had ever received from another human being, or another mutant, for that matter. "And rightly so, for you wronged them badly, even tried to bring them to harm. It is not a transgression that is easily forgiven, but it _can_ be forgiven, with time. You ran away once because you were afraid, and _this_ is what it has gained you. If you flee again because you are frightened of facing the consequences, how much worse will the second set of repercussions be?"_

"_But, I..." She had thought this through. She _had_. It _was_ the only way. But, faced now with those words, not a single lie among them, she could feel her resolve crumbling, and the false strength she had been building these past few weeks fading away, leaving her exposed to all the emotions that swirled inside her heart and mind. "I can't stay here. I can't!"_

"_Then we'll think of something else." He hadn't removed his hand yet, and that physical touch, gentle, comforting, without any underlying motive, was grounding in a way that nothing had ever been before. The earth beneath her feet was gaining some solidness again, and she felt confident enough to lift her eyes to meet his own. "You don't have to leave, Angel. You don't have to run. You're not alone. Not anymore."_

_She exhaled in a strangled gasp, unable to give words to the relief that flooded her, and then she found herself shivering, the cold she had ignored up until now seeping into her bones, wracking her body with as much force as her tears had a moment before._

"_Come back inside." He wrapped his arm about her shoulders, steering her back up the path to the front door, and some of the chill left her with the contact. "We'll discuss this somewhere warmer, and we won't go back to bed until we've found an answer."_

In actual fact, they had not found the answer alone. For, after depositing her in the kitchen with a warm cup of tea, Charles had seen fit to go and wake Erik, if the metal manipulator had even been asleep, for Angel was not at all certain that man possessed _any_ human traits, and together the three of them had formed the solution she was living now, and had been for the past three months.

Erik had been the one to propose a direct liaison with the Hellfire Club might be beneficial in the advent Emma was not able to provide them with what they needed, and Angel had found herself readily agreeing to the offered position, accepting without complaint the mental link she had been forced to establish with Emma to ensure a steady stream of information would exist even whilst they were miles apart, willing to do just about anything to regain the trust of the other mutants. She intended to do this, and she intended to do it well. Both Charles and Erik had risked a great deal in giving her this opportunity to prove herself again, and she was determined to repay that by fulfilling the role to the best of her ability.

Which was why the news sent to her by Emma via telepathic communication was so very, very worrying. That even one of her patrons might have had their minds altered was a disturbing thought, but to know that more than one, indeed, over a third of their informant network had been compromised due to the influence of this invisible enemy was a frightening prospect, and one that brought with it a good deal of danger for anyone professing an alliance with Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr. Emma had warned that, whilst the tampering seemed benign for now, it was not impossible that someone she trusted could turn on her, driven by the will of whomever was behind the manipulation.

She was not so much worried for her own life, for that, she felt, was fairly safe, her role in this nothing more than the messenger, but for the compromising information she might unknowingly leak to the new flood of moles. She did not know the location of Charles and the others anymore, Erik had insisted upon that precaution, and she herself had been well able to see the necessity, but there were other things she knew, about the network, the informants who _were_ the network, and about the contingency plans she herself had played a part in creating. The responsibility of this role had grown suddenly to massive proportions, and she had to take a good long moment to herself in order to calm her nerves before braving the game again, well aware the stakes had just risen dramatically.

If any one of them played the wrong hand now, they could lose everything.

**1st Class**

Raven sat, perched upon the edge of the metal bench, swinging her legs back and forth in timing to the silent rhythm in her head, watching, as she did so, the mutant scientist so intent upon his task. Hank was practically smothered in his work, piles and piles of coordinates, the fruits of Cerebro, stacked around him as he slowly worked his way through the seemingly endless supply, looking for the answer to this latest mystery. Though, what he was _really _looking for was a lack of answers. He had already taken the time to explain to Raven that, if he could narrow down the area they needed to search by using the information they had to identify what part of the country was not returning any coordinates, whoever was sent to investigate the block on Cerebro would be able to travel to almost the exact location of the origin.

It made sense, even to her less than scientific mind, but Hank was tackling the whole thing with an almost ferocious sense of duty, pulling up records from _months_ ago, not just the weeks since the problem had first started. He was beating himself up over missing this, she knew, but, though she had been sitting here for the last half hour, she still hadn't found the right words to prove to him he hadn't done anything wrong. There hadn't _been _anything _to_ notice until recently, and Charles had been just as blind to the developing danger as Hank, if the beast mutant would only take the time to realize that.

For all his smarts, he really could be quite dense sometimes.

A crash from upstairs had her wincing internally, wondering what priceless relic had been shattered this time during lessons. Without Charles and Azazel, the latter of whom was actually quite efficient at getting the children to behave, without even _doing_ anything, Sean was dealing with the entire class alone, Alex and Riptide fully occupied with maintaining a more active patrol around the impossibly huge perimeter now that they knew their location may have been compromised. Raven supposed she should have been up there helping him, but Moira was likely to intervene before things got too messy, and she was needed down here anyway.

"You don't have to stay with me, Raven." Hank had clearly heard the crash as well, but he did not look up from his papers as he spoke, his tone one of complete and utter distraction. "It's not that I don't appreciate your company, but I have a feeling Sean might need you more right now."

"Sean will manage," she corrected him mildly. "Besides, you look like you could use a hand. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not really." He still wasn't paying her much attention, and Raven folded her arms, starting to pout, though the expression would have had greater affect if he had actually taken the time to _look _at her. "It's better if I do this myself. I know how Cerebro works better than anyone, so I'll notice any abnormalities in these readouts."

"Hank," she sighed, realizing there was no way around the subject lingering beneath the surface any longer. "Hank, this wasn't your fault."

"I should have known," he shook his head sharply, dismissing her words. "The situation is far too volatile to go taking things for granted. Cerebro had been fine for months, I should have seen that this wasn't something wrong with the machine."

"Oh, right." Raven's tone was scathing, though she had not really meant to make it so. "Sorry, Hank. I must have forgotten at some point that you were infallible."

"Raven." Finally, _finally_ lifting his head from the documents spread about him, Hank fixed her with a distressed look, one she did not hesitate to respond to.

"It wasn't your fault, Hank, it _wasn't_, and you need to get that through your thick skull. You aren't going to be focussing on anything if you're busy trying to blame yourself for something you didn't do. All these?" she gestured at the piles upon piles of coordinates. "They're not necessary. We only need the ones from a few weeks ago, and you're slowing yourself down by thinking otherwise."

"I know. I _know_." Frustrated, he ran a clawed hand roughly through the blue mane of hair adorning his head, removing his glasses, which looked somewhat ridiculous upon his new form, and setting them aside as he gave a pained sigh. "I'm just...We let ourselves relax, Raven, when nothing happened for so long. Six months of peace and quiet, and we got careless. We shouldn't have let ourselves be lulled into a false sense of security. It was a mistake not to keep a closer eye on the CIA."

"You kept in touch with your contacts, though," Raven pointed out. "And so did Moira, and Emma, for that matter. What more could we have done?"

"We should have had the Professor keep an eye on them with Cerebro as well," Hank responded instantly. "We shouldn't have trusted blindly in our sources."

"Charles was busy."

Raven felt the need to remind him of that, because it was an indisputable fact. The visit her brother had paid to the CIA after Cuba had brought them a little time, but not much, before mutant kind's existence was made public, along with the added reports that they were responsible for the tragedy in Cuba. No official movement had been made against mutants, but the knowledge of what they had done was enough to turn the general consensus against them, so that to admit to being a mutant now was tantamount to placing yourself before a firing squad. Whatever tolerance may have once existed was long gone, and it had been a frantic race against time to try and locate and save what mutants they could before they were uncovered by those of a less sympathetic inclination.

In truth, the score of students that now populated the mansion's vast interior was only a small portion of those that had been located by Charles' probing sessions with Cerebro, but there was no possible way for them to track down every mutant they found, and, in the end, a decision had had to be made over which mutants they would choose to pursue and which would have to be left to fend for themselves. It had not been an easy choice by any means, deciding who was going to be given a better chance of survival and who would not, but the children had, inevitably, become their first priority, and it was hoped the older mutants would keep themselves safe until time could be put aside to seek them out.

Even with that dividing line so clearly drawn, however, there had still been far too many mutants for the small number of them able to seek them out, and they had been kept busy chasing leads down, rarely granted a reprieve, and utilizing what down time they did have to locate possible alternative refuge locations. Their efforts on that latter count had finally shed some results, with the discovery of the Sanctum, but Erik's departure to prepare the place for habitation had knocked their numbers back even further. Thankfully, the pace had slowed slightly with this new development, because Charles refused to approach further mutants until they knew they were actually able to offer safety, and thus they were given time to take stock of their bearings.

Time to just _breathe_.

"We've all been busy, Raven," Hank responded quietly, leaning back in his chair slightly, the reinforced piece of furniture creaking ominously, but holding his weight, unlike the other unfortunate victims that had preceded it. "It's not an excuse."

"No, it's not an excuse. It's a _reason_, Hank." Rising from the bench, she placed her hands on her hips, staring down at him with all the force she could muster. "None of us here were prepared for any of this, and the last six months have been a nightmare of fumbling our way along blindly and hoping we don't mess up so bad we end up getting someone killed. We don't _know_ what we're doing, Hank, not even Charles does, really, so we can't plan against dangers we're not experienced enough to foresee. All we can do is react to whatever happens, and pray that we make the right choices."

"And if we make the wrong ones?" he asked grimly, meeting her gaze with an intensity that made her realize just how much this was bothering him. It bothered her too, to be honest, but dwelling on something that wasn't likely to change anytime soon would not do either of them any good.

"Then we'll deal with the consequences," she answered steadily. "Just like we always do."

Hank opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a sound their conversation was interrupted by a shout echoing down the metal enforced corridors of the mansion's underground floors, the voice responsible filled with youthful excitement.

"Miss Raven! Miss Raven!" Bounding into the room with all the exuberant energy her eleven years had granted her their visitor nearly collided with the huge stack of coordinates that inevitably blocked her path, just managing to skid around them as she slid to a halt, hands grasping a hold of Raven's sleeve, even as dark eyes found a focus on her face. "Miss Raven, you have to come and see!"

"See what, Ororo?" This was, Raven knew, the other reason they had not had as much time to watch their enemies as they should have. Because, unfortunately, keeping their charges occupied with their continued learning and out of trouble was a more mammoth task than any one of them might have predicted.

"There's a ghost outside, Miss Raven!" Raven exchanged a startled look with Hank, who could only shrug by way of response, not knowing any more than she did about what was going on. "Mr. Banshee told us to come find you."

It was amusing, really, how the children had decided Sean's code-name was more appropriate for him than his _actual_ name. Now was clearly not the time to be thinking of such things, however. If Sean had sent for them this must be more serious than simply a child's vivid imagination. Meeting Hank's suddenly sober gaze one more time, Raven allowed herself to be tugged along by the child mutant, confident Hank would follow of his own accord.

Ororo, better known among her classmates as Storm, led them both out of the lower levels of the mansion, making a beeline, not to the classroom, as Raven had expected, but out the front door and towards the gardens, where Sean must have taken the lesson following the earlier breakage. Only once the rest of the class was in sight did Ororo release her grasp on Raven's sleeve, sprinting across the manicured lawns to Sean's side. Raven followed close on her heels, but it was not until she drew alongside them both that she saw what it was that had them all so enthralled.

Flickering in the very centre of the lawns was, for lack of a better word, a ghost, flashing in and out of sight at a rate that was too dizzying to allow them any real chance of studying its features. Its size suggested it was a young adult, a man of about Sean's age, Raven hazarded a guess, though there was no way to be certain when the specter would not settle. All she could honestly see was dark skin and a frame that shuddered and rippled with each flicker, a soft, buzzing noise sounding each time it flashed in and out, and dark eyes that met hers with an inestimable amount of fear.

For a moment she was at a loss, not knowing how to react to this new development, but it did not take her long to remind herself that, if this was a mutant, as seemed most likely, she owed it whatever aid she could offer. Taking a deep breath, then, she stepped forward, away from Sean and the others, to stand halfway between them and the strange being.

She lifted her head, ready to speak, but before she could even begin to formulate words the sight before her changed abruptly, the specter becoming solid for a single, brief second, just long enough to confirm her suspicions as to the young man's age, before the ghost opened its mouth in a soundless scream and vanished completely with a noise not unlike that which accompanied Azazel's teleportation. Stunned and shaken, she stood frozen, one hand outstretched to where the wraith had once been, though nothing remained there now to show it had ever existed.

The grass was unscathed, the garden empty, and the silence all pervading.

"Raven, what...?" Sean could not find the words to formulate his question, his unease reflected in the young faces of those that surrounded him, but Raven could only shake her head.

"I don't know," she answered him truthfully, hoping her lack of knowledge on this matter would not frighten the children any more than they clearly already were. With that in mind, she did not hesitate to add the conviction she could not really justify having. "But I don't think it, _he_ meant us harm. He was frightened."

"Will he come back?" That was Ororo. Irrepressible, innocent Ororo, who did not yet know, as some of the older students did, exactly _why_ she had been brought here. There was no fear in her gaze, just curiosity, perhaps concern, and Raven felt a sudden stab of loss, knowing there had never been a time when she herself had been so open towards strangers. Her appearance had robbed her of that normality, and she would never know what it was like to grow up without the constant fear of being hunted.

"I don't know," she repeated, wishing she had more to offer than a complete lack of answers, both to herself and them. "We'll just have to wait and see, and be ready to help when he does." This earned her a nod from Sean and Hank, neither of whom seemed to doubt her assessment that the ghost had not posed a threat.

"_Raven, Sean, Hank_." Raven was the only one of the three who didn't jump at the sudden mental projection, years of living with Charles meaning she was more used to this method of communication than either of the other two. "_Send the students to the library, please, then come to the study. There are matters we need to address immediately._"

"Alright, guys, that's it for the morning," Sean turned immediately to the class of waiting students, none of whom had received the telepathic message. "You guys go and study in the library for an hour or so before lunch, all right?"

His suggestion was met with varying degrees of enthusiasm, from groans to ready acknowledgement, but the student body moved off without any real complaint, chattering excitedly about the 'ghost', and leaving the three older mutants to make their own way inside. They were all good kids, Raven thought with a touch of fond affection, every last one of them, and none of them deserved the danger that had inevitably overshadowed their lives. If she could have spared them from all this, she would have, but it was out of her hands, and she could do nothing now but try and keep them safe. With that in mind, she quickened her step, knowing that whatever council was about to take place would decide the future of, not only herself, but this place, along with the children inhabiting it.

In the days that followed, she would find herself forgetting the confrontation in the gardens, and it would not be until much later, too late, that she recognized the warning for what it was. Before she knew the visit had been the desperate attempt of a caged man, restrained against his will, trying, with every fiber of his being, to save them all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Quote: **"A single mediator is more valuable than a thousand men-at-arms."-**Anyad Nostaw**

**/Chapter 5\**

**-Bleeding Through the Cracks-**

Councils of war within the Xavier Estate were always an interesting advent, a venture into choppy waters that sometimes ended well, and sometimes ended with the ship capsized and its occupants scattered, all trying to save themselves, and ignoring the needs of anyone else. Moira had learnt, after the first few meetings, that it was best to enter the room without expectations and face whatever came with as much calm as could be managed under the circumstances. Because there was never any way of knowing how these gatherings would end, or who would turn against whom when the pressure became too much and restrained tempers burst through their chains to unleash themselves on each other.

Well, that wasn't completely true, she supposed, because an all out brawl was out of the question. Charles put an end to any arguments long before fists were thrown, even though it had come close on a few occasions, and words often did more damage anyway. It was painful, really, because Moira _knew_ these people cared deeply for one another, and not one of them meant to truly cause harm, but the stress and fear had taken its toll on all of them, and there were too many issues that remained unresolved.

The unified front they presented to the world was as much a facade as the school Charles had used to explain away the children's presence here, because, beneath that surface, the relationships in this tight-knit group were fractured and strained, buckling beneath the stress of recent events. They weren't in any danger of falling apart, not yet, the creaking beams of this rickety house buoyed and supported by their sheer determination, by the strength of the center pillar to whom they were all connected, but they still hadn't found the unity that had carried them all away six months ago, and it was a loss that grew more grievous with each passing day.

This was a wound that wasn't healing, though it desperately needed to.

Moira wished she knew how to fix this, wished she could find the magic formulae even Charles had despaired of discovering, but she was not naïve enough to believe, not even for an instant, that such an easy solution existed at all. The weight of events pulling them all down into this swirling maelstrom of emotions was something that had to be tackled a little bit at a time, though, unfortunately, their current situation meant any type of resolution had been shunted to the back-burner, left to be resolved when the crisis passed. She hoped that wasn't a mistake they were going to regret in the future, but, whether or not it was the wisest course of action, they were taking it, and it was too late to turn back now.

This latest crisis was proving itself to be a substantial danger to them all, perhaps the largest threat they had encountered since the Institution was formed, because, whilst they had faced peril in the past, never before had they been pitted against another mutant. Besides Shaw, that is, but that was an entirely different situation. It had never occurred to any of them that one of their own might turn on them, not when so many humans were ready to simply write them all off as terrorists and be done with it, but Moira supposed to some freedom might mean more than loyalty, and, if they were granted amnesty in return for this deed, who _wouldn't_ refuse?

She could understand that.

No, that wasn't true.

She _couldn't_ understand it, though she tried to, tried to dredge up some motive that would not make this act seem less like the treachery it was. Charles hadn't even been sure the mutant was working with the CIA, but Moira knew it was too coincidental for them both to have been in the same area at the same time, and then this blankness the telepath spoke of...No, this person, whoever they were, had betrayed their own kind, prompted by reasons and a purpose beyond her ability to understand.

Charles, and every other mutant in this room, had worked hard over the last half year to try and save as many mutants as they could, even those who would not accept their offer of shelter had been directed towards the Hellfire Club and its contacts, any alternative form of protection that could be found. Granted, some of them would never take that offer, confident they could protect themselves, but everything that had been done had been for the good of others, their actions never once bringing harm to one of their own.

Except, that wasn't really true either, was it? Because, if she was entirely honest with herself, Moira knew the only reason the danger for all mutants was so great was because of what had happened in Cuba. The worst thing was it wasn't even Shaw who had caused all this, but Erik, someone they had trusted and allowed into their midst, and, as Hank laid the papers detailing what he had discovered on the table they were seated about, Moira was hard pressed not to let her gaze linger on the metal bender, wondering, for the umpteenth time, what their lives would have been like had things ended differently on that beach.

Would they have been better, or worse?

"Canada?" Erik stared, folding his arms across his chest, and fixing Hank with a look that showed clearly what he felt. He looked tired, Moira thought absently, but, then again, they were all exhausted, and there was no need to appear _quite_ so incredulous. "Why would the CIA have a facility in _Canada_? A facility _targeting_ mutants?"

"We don't know that their purpose is to target us, yet," Moira pointed out, the neutral party in all this, intervening before Hank could retaliate. Before things could become even more fractured. "The CIA know the most prominent mutant threat is here in the USA, if they were trying to do something they didn't want us to notice, it would make sense to take it beyond the borders of this country."

She was relieved when Erik dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of her statement, though not exactly surprised. When it came to the planning of semi-military operations such as this, Moira and Erik were actually on fairly level footing, set apart from the rest of their allies, except perhaps Emma, who had had her own fair share of experience through Shaw, by the knowledge they collectively possessed. This time, however, even if he acknowledged its merit, it appeared Erik wasn't quite so willing to concede to her advice, and his response was vehement.

"Or it could be a trap. The location is isolated, difficult to access, and almost impossible to approach from the air. It's the perfect place to set up an ambush."

Seated beside Moira, effectively taking a back seat in this discussion, though she had yet to figure out why, Charles shifted his weight slightly in his chair, his normally congenial features twisted into a frown, apparently puzzled by how hard Erik was fighting this. Moira herself did not understand the strong aversion he seemed to have developed for this subject either, and she could only conclude that something had occurred whilst he was away from the mansion. Something that made the ever stoic metal bender jump at shadows and see danger in even the most harmless of missions.

Though, to be honest, this one could hardly be classified as harmless.

"We have the use of a teleporter." Emma sounded bored, her words laced with that usual touch of arrogance that never failed to infuriate half of the mutants gathered. Moira honestly didn't know what to make of the female telepath, and had chosen instead to reserve judgement for the time being. "Their defenses are useless against that."

"Look." Hank seemed to be growing impatient, and a slight growl had wormed its way into his voice. "I know it's not ideal, but this is the best lead we have. As I understand it, all we want to do at the moment is identify and observe, not infiltrate. I can't give you a complex floor-plan or a patrol roster or anything like that, but, for this type of mission, you shouldn't need it."

"Never assume a mission is going to be simple just because you think it will be," Erik dismissed his words with a casual wave of his hand. "We need more information before we attempt anything."

"And how do you propose we get it, sugar?" Emma interjected coolly, siding, to Moira's astonishment, with Hank. Though, when she considered the blond woman's apparent fascination with antagonizing Erik, perhaps it wasn't all that surprising after all. "We've already established that our usual lines of communication have been undermined, and any contact at all on that front will be a red flag for anyone searching for us. Besides, it's not like you've never run into a situation blind before."

Her smile was entirely innocent, and entirely faked, for Erik knew immediately to what situation she was referring, and reacted accordingly.

"Yes, and I learned my lesson from that," he answered scathingly. "You won't have an opportunity to catch me off guard again."

"We'll see, honey." Emma was unperturbed, merely leaning back in her chair, meeting Erik's heated gaze with a cool one of her own.

It was strange, Moira thought inwardly, barely concealing a frown. Erik must know Emma was provoking him deliberately, but he never failed to react, and his responses always appeared to form against his will. Charles had never tried to intercede in their private little war, though Moira couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't had words with the female telepath. It seemed to be a game for her, to see how far she could push Erik before he lost his temper, and that penchant was on display in full force now, visible in the lingering smile that touched her lips, but not her eyes. The clear challenge in her expression only added to the tension already lingering in the room, and Moira would not have been surprised by what happened next even had she not been in the perfect position to observe the moment when Charles' hand moved from the armrest to the side of his head.

There were no words behind the projection that stretched over all of them, just a soothing sense of calm that washed away the lingering enmity that seemed to be clinging to the air, relaxing taut muscles as the entire assembly took a collective breath. Moira did not resist the mental relaxant, remaining silent until the spell passed, and noting, with barely concealed relief, that everyone in the room appeared to have calmed a little. In the end it was Alex, who had left a no doubt disgruntled Riptide overseeing the students in the library, who broke the weighted silence.

"The way I see it," he stated calmly. "There isn't really anything we _can_ do except go check it out. Sure, it's dangerous, but isn't it _more_ dangerous not knowing what is out there?"

"Exactly," Hank pounced on the proffered support, but there was a genuine sense of apology in his face when he turned back to Erik. "I'm sorry. I really can't give you guys anything more."

"We'll just have to make do, then," Erik sighed, conceding to what they had all known was inevitable. Whilst going near this place could prove to be a foolhardy venture, not knowing what might happen next was a sure way to lose every advantage they had so painstakingly gained, and that was not a sacrifice any of them were willing to make. "But Azazel stays with us at all times, _touching_ us at all times. We need to be able to leave immediately if things get out of hand."

"How many of us are going?" Sean broke his silence to ask the one question that was bound to give rise to further contention. "I mean, we can't leave the school undefended, especially with both our telepaths gone."

"I am going," Erik responded at once, an outcome so predictable it hardly needed acknowledgement, let alone a response, and Moira was more concerned by the second half of the statement uttered prior to his declaration.

Sean was right about the school being exposed without either telepath in residence. Emma and Charles were their early warning system, the only real way they had of knowing if a threat was imminent. The telepaths alone were capable of sensing someone approaching with ill intent, and only they could send them away without a battle. But Moira knew they would _both_ be needed on this mission, and that was a fact that wasn't going to change, just as Erik was immovable on his own participation. Unfortunately, that meant they would have to leave as many of their number behind as they possibly could to ensure the children were adequately protected.

"Azazel, Emma, and Charles are a given," Erik continued on from his previous statement. "But I think the rest of you should stay here."

"What?" Raven objected immediately, and predictably. "That's not fair!"

"It doesn't need to be," Erik retorted succinctly. "Not when its reasonable. If there is an attack here while we are absent, there will need to be enough of you to fend them off and get the students safely out of harm's way. Our task is only a scouting mission, we don't need to take an army." Raven subsided, still fuming, but before Erik could say any more on the matter Moira made her own venture into the ring.

"I'd like to go as well." All eyes turned to her, most of them in surprise, Erik's in consideration, Charles' in barely concealed alarm. Moira, however, was undeterred, and went on to explain, "You took me with you when you infiltrated the CIA that first time for my knowledge, Charles, this is no different. You may need me."

Charles frowned at her, and it was not difficult to conclude he was against her going, but he did not speak a word, and she continued to meet his gaze steadily, waiting, confident he would find whatever he needed to in her thoughts.

"That's probably a good idea." The telepath's tone was neutral when he did speak, and only slightly forced. "We don't want to have to go back there just because we missed something the first time around." Switching his focus to Alex and Sean, he added them into the discussion. "Are you both alright with this?"

"Sure, Professor," Sean nodded at once, eager to help, no matter where he had to be to do it. "We'll take care of things here."

"I'd rather be with you guys," Alex confessed with obvious disappointment. "But, I can see the point in leaving us behind."

"Good," Erik interjected. "Then, if there are no further objections, I suggest we all go prepare ourselves. Our best bet for going unnoticed will be to make this little foray under the cover of nightfall, I assume the new suits you've created will blend in better with the scenery than the first batch?" This was directed at Hank, who answered with complete calm.

"Of course. Everything has been modified to be applicable in any situation under any circumstances that might arise."

"Excellent." It was Charles who responded to this, leaning back calmly in his chair as he fixed each of them in turn with a pointed look. "Though I think it might be best to double check everything before we leave, including those coordinates. Raven can help you with that."

Hank did not object to the request, though whether that was because he had read between the lines and seen the hidden message or because he thought another revision of his work would not go astray was up for debate. Regardless of his reasons, he left without argument, Raven in tow, looking much less pleased with the council's outcome, and the rest of the room's occupants swiftly followed suit.

"Uh, I'd better go relieve Riptide," Alex grimaced. "We're in charge of afternoon classes."

"Maths, if I'm not mistaken," Charles acknowledged his words with a slight tilt of his head. "Try to follow the lesson plan, if it's not too much trouble."

"And here I was thinking I'd invented a revolutionary new teaching method," the blond mutant grinned. "No worries, Professor, I'll stick to the instructions this time around."

"I'm going to make a flight about the perimeter," Sean announced as he rose, still too enthralled by his abilities to be able to keep the grin off his face, even as he turned to Azazel. "Would you mind?"

Shrugging, the teleporter simply grabbed a hold of his arm, removing them both from the room almost instantly. That left only Emma, who spent a long moment simply studying Charles, before her lips turned upwards in a knowing smile and she rose smoothly to her feet.

"Call me when you're ready, sugar."

Charles inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, waiting until the female telepath had closed the door, then turning to Moira. "Would you be so kind as to give us a moment?"

It was hardly the first time the pair of them had taken time alone to discuss a matter without the rest of them present, but, for some reason, Moira didn't think this little tête-à-tête had been Charles' idea. Erik's expression was purposefully blank, but his eyes were studying the telepath with a slightly narrowed gaze, and it was clear he was merely waiting for the correct moment to voice whatever was troubling him, knowing better than to show any sign of discord before their young followers.

The relationship between those two had more cracks in it than any other, but, astonishingly, it seemed to have weathered the storm better than most. Moira would have dearly liked to stay in the room, even as a silent observer, her curiosity nearly overwhelming, but she knew better than to try and intrude. Rising instead without complaint, she passed in between them, unable to resist one last glance over her shoulder as she closed the door, though it told her nothing more than what she already knew.

The walls of their house were fractured.

In due time, they would fall.

**1st Class**

Silence descended upon the room in Moira's wake, though it was not an uncomfortable quiet, free of the tension the larger gathering never ceased to enkindle. Giving the younger mutants a larger say in the matters they dealt with had had its advantages, he didn't deny that, but Charles' insistence that they include them in the decision making process had also come with its own unpleasant backlash. It had been easier when it was just the two of them, because at least they already knew their differences and did their best to compromise, working around their contretemps with relative ease to find a solution both were pleased with. Now there were arguments and glares thrown almost as liberally as suggestions of use. Though, usually, they _were _the ones to have the final say, sometimes conceding to the wishes of the others, sometimes going directly against them, but always the pair upon whom the consequences of whatever decision was made would rest.

It was a larger responsibility than what he was used to, looking to the welfare of others, rather than just himself, and it was a weight he was still accustoming himself to carrying. Fortunately, his extensive practice in studying others had lent him a few trump cards, and there was very rarely a time when any one of his comrades could fully conceal their thoughts from him, especially if those thoughts were troubling them, and Charles was no exception.

"There is something on your mind."

"For someone who promised not to read it, you certainly seem to know a lot of my thoughts."

The bite of that statement was nullified by the mirth Erik allowed to show in his tone, knowing full well Charles, like himself, rarely needed his gift to sense the thoughts of those he was well acquainted with. When his telepathy was not in play, his empathy guided him instead, whether he was aware of it or not. Erik had learnt long ago it was easier to shield thoughts than emotions, not even Emma had fully accomplished it, and so Charles would always have the upper hand in knowing what others were feeling.

"The look you gave me was telling enough," Charles responded simply, linking his fingers together, and eyeing Erik with an expectant air. "I assume it was important, or else I have just sent the others away for nothing."

"They wouldn't mind even if you had."

The amount of truth behind that statement was almost frightening, because, to see the degree of trust these people had in the telepath, when Erik himself considered trust such a rare commodity, reminded him acutely of just how much of that faith had also been placed in him. Though they may not have forgiven him for his actions in Cuba, the others still relied upon him to protect them, to help them, and to support Charles in whatever mad endeavor he set his mind to. They had singled the pair of them out as their figureheads, placing them in set roles, and they had not been far off in their casting.

Erik wasn't sure when the change had occurred. When Charles' role had shifted from teacher and mentor to de facto leader, and his own to that of right hand man, all he knew for certain was that it had. He supposed it had always been inevitable, really. None of the others possessed Charles' ability to smooth tension and reassert order with a few well-chosen words, and, whilst they all possessed their individual strengths, they didn't have Charles' talent for pooling all their talents together and somehow creating a masterpiece from the twisted mixture that resulted.

The others had potential, of course, for leadership. Some of them, at least, but they were still young. Young, and ignorant, and still learning the curves of this dangerous world, still not quite refined enough in mind to truly put their more human talents to good use. Not that he was certain any degree of competence in mental faculties counted as a human trait. He himself could also probably lead them, even inspire loyalty in some of them, perhaps, but he lacked that intangible piece that was so very Charles. That quality, obscure, unseen, often even unnoticed, that drew others to him like moths to a flame, even those like Emma Frost.

Drew them, and _held_ them.

It was that arcane quality that had kept Erik here when all his past experiences pointed to the fact he would eventually leave, and it was a characteristic Erik strongly suspected would play a pivotal role in the survival of mutant kind. It was something they needed, a counterbalance to all the hatred and enmity that they faced on a day to day basis, a light to drive back the shadows that threatened to consume them all. Charles was the embodiment of hope, of everything any of them could have ever wanted, and Erik had not been joking when he named him their most valuable asset.

Charles Xavier must survive at all costs, even if he did not see it that way.

And so it fell upon Erik to set the boundaries, the limitations that divided what was achievable and what was most likely to just get them killed. The latter was a path rarely traveled, for Charles was not a fool, and he knew, usually, where to draw the dividing line. Sometimes, though, the faith in him that inspired loyalty in others became a liability, and it was then Erik, with his chary inclinations, stepped in. It was the telepath's greatest fault, he knew, the man just cared too damn much, even about people he _shouldn't_ care for, and that was the reason he had requested this private conversation.

Because he knew, all too well, the dangers of caring too much in a perilous situation.

"Are you going to be able to handle this?" He had not intended to ask the question so bluntly, but it was something that needed to be aired before it became a problem at a time when it could not be resolved.

"Handle what?" Charles stared at him, nonplussed, and Erik grimaced as he realized he was going to have to spell this out.

"Having Moira with us." There was no easier way to say it, and Erik doubted he would have used it even if there had been. This was too important an issue to go sidestepping around.

"Oh." It was rare to see the telepath so wholly taken aback, the man who was normally ready with an answer robbed of one. Even if it was only for a few seconds, he had still been silenced. "It's fine, Erik. Moira is perfectly capable of looking after herself."

"I agree," he nodded, but did not let it end there. "The question I really mean to ask is if you are going to be distracted by her presence."

"Erik, this is hardly..."

"It _is_ relevant," he cut that argument off before it could even begin, effectually silencing the other mutant. "And I _need_ an answer."

"It won't be any different than having Raven, or any one of the others, along, Erik," Charles answered him calmly, and firmly, leaving no room for doubt. "She won't affect my focus, I promise."

Erik nodded, satisfied by that, before swiftly changing the subject. "That was well played."

"You've lost me again, my friend." Charles' amused smirk suggested he had more of an idea of what Erik was talking about this time than he had the last, but the magnetic mutant answered the unspoken question regardless.

"You did not interfere until it became absolutely necessary," he spoke the words slowly, thoughtfully, the thoughts in his mind swirling beneath the possibilities behind that fact. "What was it, Charles? Some sort of test?"

"I needed to see how well you would all work together without my input," the telepath shrugged noncommittally, and Erik hoped his flinch went unnoticed. He didn't _want_ to know how they would function without Charles, because such a possibility, even in theory only, indicated they may _need_ to. "Needless to say, it will take a little longer for these councils to proceed without me and not end up in a free for all."

"_Now_ who is the cynic?" Erik remarked with deliberate casualness, folding his arms as he leant back against the table, before broaching the other reason he had wanted to speak with the telepath alone. In actual fact, this was probably the more important issue, but it was a harder one to approach, and so he had left it till last. "I think it might be a good idea to take the helmet with us. We may need it."

Charles froze, an expression of clear distaste forming on his face before he could stop it, though it vanished so swiftly anyone less observant might have missed it. Erik did not blame him for that revulsion, for, much like the mirror room back in the Sanctum, the helmet Shaw had made was a reminder of Cuba both of them could do without. Erik had been tempted to destroy the hideous memento, but Hank had insisted they keep it, if only because it allowed him to study what type of weapons might be used against them. Erik had not set eyes on it since the scientist took it off his hands, and he hardly wanted to now, but, if it could help them, they would be foolish to throw such an advantage away merely because it brought bad memories with it, and Charles was quick to realize this.

"I suppose it would not be an ill advised gesture." Offering Erik a somber smile that didn't quite hide his unease, he continued quietly, "I just wish I could say the same of this mission. Something about all this just feels..."

"Off," Erik finished the sentence for him quietly, inordinately relieved that the trepidation lingering in the back of his mind was not the sole product of his nightmares. It couldn't be, not if Charles was feeling it too.

"Yes," the telepath frowned, his gaze growing distant for a moment. "Erik, you don't think..." he trailed off, then shook his head abruptly. "Never mind, I am sure it is nothing."

"We should be careful anyway." Erik was sure it _wasn't_ nothing, but he wasn't going to say so aloud, not without further evidence to back up that assumption. "We retreat at the first sign something is not right, agreed?"

"Agreed," Charles did not hesitate to respond, and that alone told Erik how worried his friend was. "I just hope we _can_."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: _Hello again, everybody. There's nothing much to say about these two chapters, save that there is a lot more going on in the background of all these events than has been shown. A general thank you goes out to all readers/reviewers/alerters, and welcome back to plexi24, its good to know you're still reading! _**

**Quote: **"Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty..."-**Theodore Roosevelt **

**/Chapter 6\**

**-Turmoil-**

The courtyard was pristine, untouched, as rustic and tranquil as it had been the last time he set eyes upon it. Erik knew it had been foolish to expect anything different, to believe, even for a moment, he would encounter anything like the image burned into his mind through his dreams. But he _had _expected it, despite all logic dictating he should not, and to have those expectations go unfulfilled was a relief so great it was near tangible.

Exhaling slowly, he moved from the archway into the center of the walled off area, letting his eyes drift aimlessly over the worn stone and the greenery that covered it, stiffening abruptly when a voice broke the stillness around him.

"Erik?" Raven's tone was searching, questing, testing the air to try and discern whether it was safe to breathe. Turning towards her, he read that same hesitation on her face, amber eyes fixed on his own as she hovered in the archway, a laden tray in her hands, clearly uncertain as to whether she wished to come in or leave. Erik, for his part, merely waited, allowing her time to draw up the courage to step inside the isolated courtyard, a nervous smile flickering into existence on her face. "I thought you might like some lunch. It's not much, the children ate most of it before I could get to it, but..." She shrugged, stepping towards the table and chairs set within the courtyard and placing the tray down on the wooden surface.

Erik watched her sit at the table, knowing there was more reason behind her having sought him out than just the food she had brought with her, and wondering, briefly, if flight might be a wise course of action. His talks with Raven had never been light in their content, not even before Cuba. Their discussions had always been overshadowed by something greater, so that the trivial arguments of others seemed very little in comparison to their sobering discourse. His mind told him today would be no different, and common sense told him there was no point in avoiding it, so, his resolve made, he moved forward to join her. Sitting down wordlessly, he reached for the nearest article of food on the tray, not even bothering to identify it as he popped it into his mouth, staring at her expectantly.

Starting this conversation was her task, he would simply follow where she led.

"It hasn't been the same without you here, you know," she began quietly, wringing the napkin she had brought with her in her hands, eyes downcast. "I guess I never really thought about what it would be like without you here, not even when I knew you were going, but I...I'm glad you're back, Erik." She lifted her gaze to meet his, and there was no doubting the sincerity of the uttered words. "I've missed you."

Three simple words, and yet, he could not remember the last time someone had uttered them and actually _meant_ them. In order to be missed one had to first be noticed, and Erik had made an art out of going unseen, of being the hidden hand that dealt justice, and left no witnesses to recount his presence. No one knew him, and that anonymity had once been the only way he could imagine living. That had changed now, though, he had become of value to someone else, not as a weapon, or a tool, or a means to an end, but purely and simply as a friend, and he had come to value others in that same way, an attachment that gave his nightmares all the power they needed to paralyze him with fear. He could not strike at dreams in anger, as was his customary defense, and he knew no other way to fight against terror, a situation that left him floundering and helpless, a state of being he loathed in others, let alone himself.

"You seem to be getting along just fine." His response was noncommittal, _safe,_ and he regretted it the moment he saw the disappointment form on her face. Clearly he was missing something here.

"I suppose we are." Rising, she drifted along the edge of the wall, and Erik felt something in his stomach clench as she neared the spot where she had lain, _dying_, in his dream. "It hasn't been easy, though, and sometimes things seem so difficult, so twisted that I don't see any point in trying. Our lives have changed so much so quickly, and it seems to have brought out the worst in all of us. We fight and squabble for no good reason, apologize, and then do it all over again. It's madness, really, but we keep on doing it."

"Things will work out." He wasn't sure if he believed the reassurances he was offering, but if Raven had wanted comfort she would have gone to Charles or Hank, she knew better than to seek it from him, and he was still waiting to learn what it was she had wanted. "They always do."

"But when?" She turned to him, and there was a darkness dwelling in her eyes that made him pause, taking a closer look at her worn features, a face that usually hid weariness better than most showing it plainly, for Raven's eyes told all her skin color did not. "I'm so tired of this, Erik, of sitting at home whilst you and Charles continually risk yourselves. I know why I am left behind, I know I am needed here, to keep me safe so you need not worry if nothing else, but it wears on me when you are gone. Every time you walk out that door I'm afraid it'll be the last time I see either of you, and I couldn't...I can't bear the thought of you never coming back."

"Death is always a possibility, Raven," he answered her sedately, despite the fact it was a reality he shied from with as much vehemence as she. "I can't promise you we'll come back."

"I don't want you to," she shook her head, and he was sure the hand she wiped quickly across her face was meant to hide the tears lingering in her eyes. "Charles and I have already discussed this. He insisted upon it. He...He wanted to make sure I'd take care of the children if something happened to the both of you. He wanted us to be safe."

"Of course." He was surprised Charles had broached the subject with Raven, considering how hard he tried to protect her from all harm, emotional or physical, but perhaps he should not have been. The telepath might have been an idealist, but the cold reality of their situation had hardened some of that innocence, leaving practicality in its place, a loss Erik mourned, though he hardly understood why. "Foresight is one of the few advantages we have, though it can't have been easy for you to hear."

"It was nothing I didn't already know." Moving back to seat herself across the table from him, Raven folded her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together as she worked up the courage to continue speaking. "I think...I think when something like this happens, there are only two things you can do. You may either face reality, or run away from it, and I have chosen the former. I'm not afraid of admitting that reality scares me, because it does, and sometimes I lie awake wondering why we all so willingly throw ourselves into the path of danger. And then..." she paused, and the smile that broke through her sobriety, though small, was touching in its intensity. "And then I see the children, and the good work we are doing here, and I know for certain that every sacrifice we have ever made is worth it. I know we are making a difference, no matter how small, and, even if we cannot save everyone, we can save some, and _that_ is something that's value cannot be measured. But, there is a catch to all of that."

Erik titled his head at her, waiting, and when she did not immediately continue he prompted her with two words. "Go on."

"If we are to help anybody, to save anybody." The words were hesitant and stilted, and he knew they were nearing the point at last. "Then we must overcome our own demons, our own fears. We must put aside the things that terrify us, and take strength from the fact there are others who rely upon us. And so I must ask you, Erik, and please do not be angry with me for doing so, but what is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Raven..."

"Don't lie to me, _please, _surely I have done enough to deserve better?" The look she gave him was one of reproach, and he thought he read hurt in the amber depths gazing back at him. He had not offered her the answer she wanted, it seemed, but, even knowing that, he could not bring himself to utter the words aloud. So long as they remained unspoken, so long as the growing attachment he had for this place remained hidden, perhaps they would all be kept safe. He didn't want to lose this sanctuary, these people who had come to mean so much to him, not to Shaw, not to anyone, and certainly not to his own demons.

"I am not lying, Raven, I really am fine," he brushed off her worry with a slight wave of one hand. "I merely have a lot on my mind right now."

"You look exhausted." Raven did not seem convinced. If anything, her expression had grown even more anxious. "Are you sure...?"

"Raven, I'm _fine_, let it go."

"But you..."

"_Raven_!" He couldn't quite keep the sharpness out of his tone, and he winced as he saw her recoil, the wounded look in her eyes impossible to miss this time."I didn't mean..."

"You can be really selfish sometimes, you know that?" Raven shook her head, cutting him off before he could apologize, her eyes blazing. "You act like it doesn't matter to us, like your actions and words don't affect the rest of us, and yet if things were the other way around you'd never sit idly by and just let one of us suffer in silence! Do you think we enjoy sitting back here safe and sound inside the Estate whilst you and Charles risk your necks on a near daily basis? It isn't easy being the ones always left behind, Erik, it isn't easy to sit for hours on end wondering whether or not you'll ever come back, whether we'll ever see either of you again. I'm not afraid of admitting that scares me, I'm not afraid of admitting I can't sleep for worrying every time the both of you are away, but when you come home, when you're _here_, all I ask is to be allowed to show a little bit of concern, to be allowed to be who I am. Because I _care_, Erik, and I worry, and it's not fair for you to pretend like nothing's wrong when it so clearly is. We're your friends, your _family_, we deserve better, we deserve to know the truth."

"Raven, that's not what I..."

"I can't believe I missed you these past couple of months!" She was truly ranting now, and Erik glanced about them anxiously, praying no one would walk in on this escalating argument. "I can't believe I took a few moments every day to hope you'd stay safe wherever you were. You're not worth the effort, you never give anything back in return, and I don't know why I bother trying! I was willing to let the past go, to start over afresh, but its never going to be like that with you, is it? Because, no matter how much anyone is prepared to sacrifice for you, you won't repay the favor."

"I've already sacrificed a great deal simply by being here, Raven," Erik reminded her, keeping his tone calm and level, trying not to upset the distraught young woman further. And Raven _was_ distraught, he recognized that fact now, even if he had yet to pinpoint a reason for it. "And you should know I'd willingly lay down my life for any one of you."

"I know," she sniffed slightly, and Erik blinked in surprise, wondering when the tears had begun to run down her cheeks. Tears she struck away angrily now. "That isn't what I meant. It doesn't matter, does it, Erik? It doesn't matter how much Charles and I give, how open we are with you, because you'll never lay your heart on the line in return. You don't think we're worth the risk."

"Raven, that's not true."

"You're lying to yourself now, as well as me," she replied, watching him miserably through her tears. "You think affection of any kind is a weakness, a liability, its what you _believe_, Erik, I know it is."

"Attachments can be used against you." She was right, he was not going to deny that, but he still did not understand what she was trying to tell him.

"But they can also be a great boon during times of hardship, even times of happiness. You can't go through life locking yourself in a gilded cage, Erik. Believe me, I've tried it, it isn't worth the suffering it brings."

"I'm not going to argue with you about this, Raven," Erik shook his head. "There have been enough of those already."

"It doesn't change anything, you realize that, don't you?" Pinning him with a piercing gaze, Raven rose slowly to her feet. "You can pretend you don't care, Erik, you can disown all vows of friendship if you so wish to, but that won't change what you really feel, and it will still hurt just as badly if something goes wrong." She paused, then pressed, "Won't you tell me what is?"

"It. Is. _Nothing_." Fixing her with a pointed glance, he enunciated each word clearly and with no small amount of force. "Let it be, Raven."

It was with a strange pang of regret that he saw the shutters fall across her eyes, her movements swift, forceful, and jerky as she reached out to snatch the tray she had brought from the kitchen, standing before him for a moment, her knuckles white around the handles.

"There are times, Erik, when I wonder why I even bother," she told him frigidly. "And then there are times like this." Straightening, she half turned to leave, but paused long enough to finish the blow she had already landed. "When I simply hate you."

**1st Class**

Moira waited until after the last of the afternoon classes had concluded before retrieving a cup and saucer from the kitchen and going in search of Charles, knowing full well she was likely to gain little of his attention whilst the Institution's younger generation were all clamoring for it at once. Though Charles usually chose to delegate teaching responsibilities, fulfilling the role of headmaster himself, a post which allowed him to oversee lessons and leave the instruction to others when he was needed elsewhere, there was no questioning the fact that the children preferred his presence over that of most of the others. It wasn't that Alex or Sean or Hank or Raven or even Riptide were any less well liked, for the former two, at least, always managed to make things interesting, but because Charles had the same draw on children as he had had on the first class of mutants, a fact the others readily accepted, and even seemed to like.

In fact, there were times when Moira believed the 'code' name the children had given him suited Charles' better than that which had been bestowed upon him at birth. Not so much the full title, but the fond 'Professor' by which most of the students, children and adults alike, chose to call him. Charles could deny it all he wanted, though it was a habit she had noticed waning of late, resignation forming in its place, but there really were more than a few facets of his personality that made the monicker a perfect fit. Of course, telling him he reminded her of countless storybook characters, who all inevitably fit beneath the heading of 'kindly, _old_ Professor', was not a course of action she had any intentions of following in the near future, and thus those comparisons remained solely internal.

Provided, of course, she hadn't just accidentally projected all of that.

Hiding her amusement at that thought behind a smile of greeting, she closed the study door with her elbow, approaching his desk to set the beverage she had brought with her down, before pausing a moment to study the papers spread across its surface. The contents of those sheets were a far cry from those they had been studying a few hours before, items of learning, education, written timetables, and lesson plans that made the world outside the Estate seem like an unreal nightmare when compared against the tranquility of life inside its boundaries. Unfortunately, the normality of all of this was the lie, not the danger, and, as Charles set his pen aside to finally glance up at her, Moira found her smile slipping from her face, and herself lacking the will to put it back there.

"Tomorrows lessons?" Trying to keep a note of casualness in her voice, she waved a hand towards the scattered scribbling on the desk, earning herself an inquisitive look in return.

"Just because we are traveling abroad does not mean things here need to be neglected," he answered her smoothly, one hand reaching for the steaming cup of tea, whilst his other waved her towards the chair on the other side of the desk, a position she knew was normally filled by another. "But I doubt you came here to inquire about my academic preparations. What is troubling you?"

"I'm not sure how to put this into words," she admitted, linking her fingers together and staring at her hands where they sat in her lap. "And maybe I am wrong, maybe it is nothing at all, but I...I can't help but feel that something is...wrong."

"Wrong?" Leaning back in his seat, Charles prompted her with that single word, waiting for her to gather her thoughts without pressing her in any way.

"At first...At first I thought it was just normal." She had had time to think this over since leaving him and Erik alone to discuss whatever it was had arisen between them, time to consider the past months, and how things had changed from day to day, and time to realize just how _twisted_ all of this seemed. "After Cuba, there was bound to be a fallout, a period of adjustment, and it was to be expected that everyone would bend a little beneath the strain. But...But it's been _six months_ now, Charles, and things aren't getting better, they're getting _worse_. We've worked together too long for this to be happening now, but it seems every time I turn around I see another argument, even when no one means to make one. Nobody does it in front of the children, but it seems once they are alone they can't stop themselves, and it worries me."

"I can't say I wasn't prepared for one of you mentioning this eventually." Charles' response surprised her, but before she could formulate an answer of her own he had added more. "It is something I have noticed myself, no doubt far later than I should have. Though now, at least, I think I may have a good idea at what is behind all this. You may have noticed, Moira, that my abilities prove a great aid when trying to make our discussions remain civil, so it should not come as a surprise to you to know the reverse is also true. It is just as easy to add tension to a situation as it is to add calm, and a skilled telepath could easily make the small shoves necessary to change a composed conversation into a volatile disagreement."

"What are you saying?" Moira frowned, puzzled. "That another telepath, perhaps the one blocking you, is responsible for our inability to settle this?"

"It shouldn't be possible for them to reach us here." He was frowning now, and Moira did not fail to note that, whilst he was cradling the cup she had bought with her in both hands, he had not yet touched a drop of its contents. "It _shouldn't_ be, not with the defenses Emma and I have both kept in place, the illusion we built around this place, but that does not meant it _isn't_. I can't explain how, but there must have been some loophole, something we missed."

"But if it's telepathic, shouldn't you be able to...fix it?" She was out of her depth now, but she was certain he would understand her general meaning, even if the slight shake of his head was by no means reassuring.

"It's not that simple, Moira. This isn't a brief touch we're talking about. Somebody has _implanted_ something in their minds, _our_ minds, hidden well enough I never would have detected it, or even thought to look for it, until they tried to do the same to me. They're not maintaining it constantly, it's been done once and left to stew, and before I can fix that I need to figure out what it _is_. I don't think I'm capable of implanting mental traps like that in another person."

"But you can still take them out, yes?"

"Specific skills vary from telepath to telepath, so far as I can tell with my limited experience, anyway. But, from what I've learned, personally and through Emma, most telepaths can undo another's work provided their powers are as strong or stronger. I believe I can undo whatever has been done, but it will take time."

"Why would someone do this in the first place?" Moira wondered aloud. "What could they possibly hope to achieve?"

"Division within our ranks? A lack of cooperation? Perhaps even severing this alliance, who can say?" Charles shrugged slightly. "Whatever their intentions, I do believe they may have underestimated us. The Institution is more resilient than they seem to think."

"If these 'triggers' were sown on purpose, though," Moira began thoughtfully. "Doesn't that mean this telepath is working for the CIA?"

"In all likelihood, yes." He did not hesitate to admit that, much to her relief, because she was not certain she could have changed his mind had he argued her conclusion. "But just because they are aiding them does not mean they are doing so willingly. Everyone has a price, Moira, something they will do almost anything to protect, and, until I know why this mutant is working against us, I'm not going to jump to any conclusions."

"_You_ wouldn't help the enemy," Moira shook her head in disagreement, earning herself only a soft smile in response.

"Not willingly, no," he told her simply. "But there are some things I value so highly it would make resisting if they were threatened very difficult. _Everyone_ has a price, Moira, and I honestly doubt any one of us could resist given the right provocation. It's a weakness we all have, and the only real way to stop it from coming to that would be to hide what those weaknesses are, and hope to God the other side never discovers the truth."

She didn't have a response to that, an argument to lay down against this traitor to mutant kind, because she knew how much truth was in those words. Whilst it was easy to imagine herself resisting all efforts to force her into submission, there were some things one just couldn't sacrifice, no matter the end prize. Letting the discussion end there, she broached a new subject, her earlier curiosity making itself known again. "Was this what you and Erik were discussing?"

"No," Charles shook his head. "I haven't conferred with him on either matter. These mental triggers do not pose a serious threat yet, and, as for the reasons this telepath might be working against us, well, it will be difficult enough to convince him they are not betraying us, without trying to explain their motives as well."

"He should understand better than any of us," Moira frowned. "Surely he must know what it is like to be forced to do something against your will?"

"It's not the same, Moira," the telepath grimaced slightly, sipping at the tea, which, she realized, was probably only lukewarm by now. "The situation...it's just not."

"I see." She knew when to push a matter and when to let it lie. "Then, if not that, what _were_ you talking about?"

"You, actually." There was a spark of mischief lingering beneath the blue depths of his eyes now, and Moira braced herself. "Erik thought having you along might be a distraction."

The thought had never occurred to her until now. "_Am _I a distraction?"

"That depends," he grinned at her over the rim of his cup. "Will you be offended if I say 'no'?"

"Charles..." she scowled, but wasn't quite in control enough to disguise the smile of amusement twitching on her own lips. This side of the telepath's personality had remained largely repressed since Cuba, buried beneath new responsibilities and the heavy weight of concerns that came with being in charge of the Institution and all it represented. But right here, right now, even with the upcoming mission hovering like a giant net suspended above them just waiting to fall, it was possible to forget all that even existed, and just take what enjoyment they could from one another's company.

"Sometimes I wonder how you ever managed to get that Ph.D.," she sighed, shaking her head in mock disbelief. "Though," she glanced over the papers on the desk. "Given that I'm sure _all_ of this didn't come from that doctorate, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised."

"Having an eidetic memory can be decidedly useful at times," Charles agreed with her. "I can remember every class I ever took as a child, and I'll have you know I never deliberately cheated on a single one of them."

"It can't have been easy, though." She hadn't thought of it until now, really, but the inclusion of that word 'deliberately' had awoken her interest. "To have to hide it."

"There's nothing easy about learning to control and conceal any mutation, Moira, especially when your powers first begin to manifest. People like Raven have the hardest time of it, and some of them don't have the luxury of shapeshifting she has to hide when she needs to, but even she had a struggle to begin with, trying to manage it. A single slip up in public can potentially cost everything, so we hide, because its the only thing we can do. It is not easy living in fear, which makes what we are doing here all the more important. These children deserve something more than to have to worry over the chances of discovery every day of their lives. I just hope we can continue to provide that for them, and that, once this is all over, it won't be _necessary_ to provide it."

"It will take time." And far more than it should, Moira knew, all because of what had happened in Cuba, a tragedy that had been caused, not by Erik, but by those who had chosen to give the order to fire in the first place. Had those missiles never left the ships, there would have been nothing for the metal bender _to_ throw back, and all of this heartbreak and uncertainty could have been avoided.

"It will." He did not disagree with her. "But so do all things truly worth doing."


	8. Chapter 8

**Quote: **"Anyone who has spent a few nights in a tent during a storm can tell you: The world doesn't care all that much if you live or die."-**Anthony Doerr**

**/Chapter 7\**

**-Shatter Point-**

The grass they were currently lying upon was long and wet, not a pleasant combination by any means, and certainly not when coupled with the complete and utter darkness that was the work of a cloudy night, the overcast heavens wholly obscuring the moon from sight. They had decided it would be best to conduct this mission under the cover of darkness, lessening the risk of a visual discovery, and it was a decision that, even now, was proving its own merit.

Emma had shifted to her diamond form the moment they arrived, linking her mind with Charles' own to strengthen the defenses they were currently maintaining around their less telepathically endowed comrades, though Erik had Shaw's helmet, even if he preferred not to use it. Had it been anything less than full darkness, that form would inevitably have glittered, though whether or not the reflection of light would have betrayed their position was debatable, for the facility they had literally stumbled upon, after nearly an hour of exploring the woods Azazel had transported them to, was hidden deep within a ravine, the sides of which, whilst not terribly high, were steep enough to make it almost impossible to climb down. Given that their intentions here were merely to observe, they had elected not to attempt the descent, or the easier route of merely teleporting down, a decision which had led them to their current position of lying, side by side, on the uncomfortable, damp undergrowth, peering down the steep sides of the gorge at the reason for their presence here.

From the outside, the facility looked fairly innocuous. There were no walls, no visible guards, no sign that anyone might be being held here against their will. But the location, the sheer inaccessibility of the place, was an indication all of its own that this facility was not meant to be found, and Erik had already told them there were men concealed in the building's shadows. _Armed_ men, whose weapons betrayed their locations long before their minds did. Those sentries were not what had first caught his eye, though, their presence not really presenting a threat unless they decided they needed to get closer. No, what had arrested his attention immediately, almost from the moment he first laid eyes on the ravine, was the large, sphere-like structure huddled away beneath the overhanging cliffs, almost completely hidden from sight, unless one looked at it from just the right angle.

Even half obscured as it was, however, there was no mistaking that structure.

"Cerebro," Erik stated the word without emotion, his displeasure radiating through the air from his position at Charles' right hand, Moira on his other side, looking no more pleased by the discovery. "How the hell did they manage that?"

"I don't know."

He could guess, though, well aware it was easily possible his was not the only mind their psionic enemy had been rifling through. Whilst he and Emma protected the minds of their comrades whenever they were near them, the others had been away from the mansion often enough that they could have been exposed to the rogue telepath without even knowing it. It would have been easy, under those circumstances, for someone to, not only plant triggers, but to pluck the plans for Cerebro from Hank's mind, particularly seeing as the beast mutant was normally so preoccupied with hiding his physical appearance he would hardly have been worrying about his mental security.

There was also the other possibility, of course, that someone had stolen the plans directly from the mansion, but Charles recoiled from all the implications that came with that alternative, the word 'traitor' leeching its poison in the back of his mind. It _wasn't_ an alternative, not really, he would have sensed it if someone had infiltrated the Estate.

Wouldn't he?

"So what now, sugar?" Emma interrupted his inner monologue, her crystal gaze focussed on him, not on the sight before them. "We've come. We've seen. Is it time to conquer, or to flee?"

"I'd like to get a look inside." The words did not mean what they seemed to, but all of his companions knew him well enough to understand as much without him needing to elaborate. "Do you think you can maintain the wall without me?"

"Sure, honey. So long as you keep your own shields. If you drop them, everything will fail."

Nodding his understanding of her warning, Charles raised a hand to the side of his head, pressing two fingers to his temple as he adjusted his focus to extend beyond his immediate surroundings. He brushed briefly along the minds of the sentries on duty, but read nothing there of importance, the men standing guard doing so only because they had been told to, not because they had any idea of what it was they were protecting. Moving beyond them, he probed deeper, feeling each of the lives within the building flare to life inside his mind, living beacons that drifted back and forth across the mental plane, feelings, emotions, and thoughts cascading in the air around him.

There were mutants within the facility, he realized that instantly, not just one but many, most of them young and untrained. Fear was the predominant emotion he sensed from them, but there was something else there to, a dullness about their minds that made it hard to get a grip on their individual consciousness. Their thoughts were not being blocked from him, not as they had been whilst he was using Cerebro, for he could still sense them, but there was something in his way, some invisible barrier that made the connection sluggish and erratic, too risky to press.

Something was wrong here.

Pulling back from those minds he sought a clearer spark, something he could clearly sense and touch, without feeling like he was being smothered. He passed over several human minds, choosing not to delve deep enough to see the exact thoughts lingering beneath the general malice they exuded, steering clear of the mutant who radiated with such fury he doubted he would have been able to read anything but red rage, and finally jerking to a halt in the youngest mind he had sensed yet, a mind that astonished him further by reacting instantly to his touch.

"_Phoenix?"_ He was given a flashing impression of a young face, long, tousled dark hair, and hazel eyes that reflected the confusion and doubt lingering within this child, before abrupt realization sunk through the boy's mind, and barriers stronger than any he had seen in one so young leapt into place. _"You're not Phoenix! Who are you?"_

It was too dangerous to risk answering that question with a name, so instead he projected his intentions as clearly as he was able, summing them up with words he hoped, more than believed, would be accepted. _I do not meant you harm._

"_What are you doing here, then?" _To his astonishment, and relief, the placation was received without question, though the walls still remained in place. This child was not as naïve as one might assume, then. _"Did Mr. S bring you here?"_

_Mr. S_? He allowed the question to show in that repetition, waiting for an answer, still not sure whether he could expect one or not.

"_He's the one who looks after us." _There was distrust in the mind the thought originated from, a clear wariness and fear of the individual currently filling his thoughts. _"He scares me."_

_Can you tell me what he looks like?_ Knowing their enemy was a benefit that was not to be scoffed at, which was why Charles had to smother his disappointment when the answer came in the negative.

"_I've never seen him," _the boy replied. _"Phoenix has, though."_

His reaction to that name was interesting, a mixture of familiarity, uncertainty, and trust, all mingled together so that even he did not seem certain of his reaction to the individual he spoke of. Charles let that tangled knot be for the moment, waiting for the boy to ask the question lingering on the tip of his tongue. Figuratively speaking, of course.

"_Have you come to take us away?"_

His heart twisted painfully the moment the words were uttered, the question filled with such raw hope and anticipation, a desperate sense of longing that seemed out of place in one so tender in his years. He couldn't refuse that plea, not outright, and so he was forced to try and make the truth seem softer than it truly was.

_I've come to try, _he hesitated, but honesty inevitably won out. He couldn't lie. Not about this. _I'm afraid I can't promise you anything._

"_You _want_ to try, though." _Charles did not realize he had projected that desire until the boy's response came, though it did not appear he had caused any harm by doing so. If anything, the child's tone was one of wonder. _"Nobody else ever wants to try," _he paused in thought, then offered a white flag. _"My name is Remy."_

Charles recognized the trust in that gesture, and was fully prepared to return it, seeing no harm in sharing his given name. But the moment his defenses dropped, even that little bit, the barriers still firmly in place, a presence he had failed to notice up until now leapt into breach with all the wild fury of a cornered animal. The sheer force behind the attack took him wholly by surprise, and he jerked back, retreating from the boy's mind as he was driven to confront this new opponent.

There was no reason behind the assault battering against his defenses with enough force they shook under the barrage, just a mad need to strike, wound, and destroy. Desperately rebuilding his mental walls as quickly as they were destroyed, he tried to reach out to the wild presence, tried to cast a sliver of calm into the wild storm of twisted emotions pummeling against his mind, but it was an offering that was stamped on, a reaching hand that was grasped and used to pull the one extending salvation into condemnation.

The shock of the sheer vehemence behind the rejection sent him reeling, but his adversary did not stop there, using the opening left in the wake of his projection to tear away at what remained of his defenses, shattering the barriers that were all that remained to keep the presence at bay. The moment those final walls fell, exposing the link between himself and Emma, as well as all the others, the telepathic shield that had been concealing them from this threat was gone, and Charles was forced to draw his attention away from the mental battle in order to confront the sudden rebellion of their very surroundings to their presence.

The trees about them were bending wildly, some even tearing themselves from the ground, branches, trunks, and roots alike posing a hazard to their well-being, whilst the ground beneath them trembled and rocked as though the very earth was in turmoil, large boulders shaking free from the cliffside to tumble down into the ravine below. Instinctively, Charles sought to rear back away from the edge, staggering to his feet with an effort as the ground bucked beneath him, but no sooner had he made it upright then Emma was pulling him back down again, using her diamond form to protect him from the towering pine that would otherwise have crushed him.

Instead, the wooden deathtrap bounced off her shoulder, twisting in the air in a way that should have been impossible as it crashed a path to the cliff-edge, hovering on the edge for a moment before making the plummet, a journey it would not make alone as it roots found a mark in soft, human flesh.

"Moira!"

Tearing himself free of the female telepath's hold, Charles threw himself after the tumbling woman, his hands grasping onto thin air as he missed her flailing hand, watching in horror as she joined the debris tumbling down into the gorge below. The dust was near blinding, hiding her from sight, and Charles did not have a chance to focus on her with his mind, for the cliff edge beneath him was crumbling, pitching him forward to follow in her wake.

**1st Class**

The storm arose barely more than an hour after Charles and the others had made their departure, a rumbling, roiling mass creeping upon the Estate, obscuring what stars the early night time sky had previously unveiled. The swiftness of its arrival took most of the mansion's occupants by surprise, though Sean's presence in the hallway when Raven exited her room, still tying the knot on her robe, told her quite clearly she was not the only one to have realized its cause. Sean hesitated upon seeing her, moving quietly across the passageway to join her outside her door, his voice a hushed whisper when he spoke.

"She's not in her room," he informed her, ignoring the rumble of thunder that echoed his words. "I was just on my way to check the study."

"I'll take care of it, Sean." She recognized the question hidden behind those words, and was not at all surprised by the relief that filled his face. Sean's ability to comfort others was sadly lacking, and, whilst Raven was still feeling her own way along that same path, she had more experience than either he or Alex, and most likely always would.

"Thanks," he nodded, before turning to make his way back down the corridor, though Raven did not fail to realize his room was in the opposite direction. He had most likely been with Hank and Alex in the former's lab when the storm began, testing the new security measures Hank had implemented. It was where Raven should have been, too, really, but for some reason she had wanted solitude tonight. Well, this new development had put paid to that idea, she thought ruefully, padding her way down the empty hallway towards Charles' study, where the cause of tonight's disturbance had no doubt chosen to hide herself.

Ororo Munroe was a sweet girl, ready and willing to help anyone she thought was in need, even if helping merely meant keeping them company, sitting and listening to them talk for hours on end, although she seemed to prefer delivering uplifting pep talks to her fellow students, an inclination that was similarly endearing and amusing. She was one of the first children they had brought to the Xavier Estate, a bright presence that had caught all the other pupils in her sway, a personality that had withstood being orphaned at a young age, and the only one among the mansion's growing brood to have so firmly attached herself to Charles. It amused Raven slightly, if only because she knew firsthand that Ororo wasn't the first orphan Charles had attracted, but she also understood the appeal of the unconditional acceptance her brother offered.

That, too, was something she had been blessed with.

"Ororo?" She entered the room slowly, heedful of the lightning flashing vividly outside the window, and the small frame huddled on the sill. Knees drawn up to her chest, and arms wrapped firmly about her legs, the white haired girl reminded her of herself at a much younger age, even the fear reflected back at her through those dark eyes was reminiscent of her childhood. Though, unlike her own private worries at that age, Ororo's concern was not for herself.

"I have a bad feeling, Miss Raven."

_Don't we all?_ Raven sighed inwardly, moving smoothly across the room to join the young girl at the window, taking a seat opposite her as she wracked her mind for some words of comfort. Ororo didn't know the true reason for Charles' absence from the mansion, all she knew was that he and Moira, another staple figure in all the youngsters' lives, were both gone, and yet, even without the full picture, she was still sharing the unease that had gripped them all. The squall outside was probably not intentional, for Ororo still had a long way to go before she could hope to achieve full mastery over her weather controlling abilities, which also meant it was a more accurate indication of the girl's feelings than anything else at the moment, but its presence still seemed strangely suited for the situation. She was upset, worried, and afraid, and Raven just wished she knew how to ease those fears.

Ororo's, and her own.

"Miss Raven, can I ask you something?" Ororo was not looking at her as she spoke, her gaze fixated outside the window, apparently taking comfort from the wildness of the outside world.

"Of course."

"What will happen to us if they don't come back?"

Raven baulked at the question, barely biting back the gasp that threatened to escape her lips, her mind reeling under the shock of that suggestion. It had always been a possibility, of course, something they all knew could happen, but to hear her deepest fears uttered by a child, who should not even have to _consider_ such things, brought it to vivid life in a way she could have easily done without. Fighting to remain calm, she folded her hands in her lap to stop them trembling, answering as serenely as she could manage.

"Then the rest of us will look after you," she promised fervently. "You, and everyone else who needs our help. Nobody is going to be sending you away, Ororo, I promise."

The little girl nodded, lapsing back into silence, and, without the ability to supply any further words of comfort, Raven was forced to satisfy herself by merely remaining there at Ororo's side, each of them drawing solace from the other's presence, both praying their instincts were wrong.

**1st Class**

"_Charles_!"

Erik had always possessed quick reflexes, a reaction time swifter than most, which, whilst not an additional skill granted to him by his mutation, had served him just as well on many occasions. It was those reflexes that had seen him slamming the dreaded helmet firmly into place the moment he realized what was happening, that the attack around them was _telekinetic_, thereby sealing his mind to all psionic intrusions, friendly or otherwise. It was those reflexes that had seen him steer clear of the lumbering timber that threatened to crush him into submission, and the clumps of earth that tore free beneath his feet. It was those reflexes he had to thank for the fact he was still alive, still standing upright in this maelstrom, and still fully able to witness the disaster unfolding around him.

It was those same reflexes that failed him now, as the man who was his best friend, his _brother_, foolishly dove towards his own demise.

He had seen Charles leap for the human woman, had absorbed the scene, calculated the distance in his mind, and realized almost immediately the telepath was going to be too late, but what he hadn't foreseen was the cliff edge that crumbled the moment Charles' body made contact with it, or the way the telepath would be too overbalanced to pull himself back to safety. By the time that had clicked within his mind, by the time his body had leapt into action, haring towards the edge as swiftly as his legs would take him, it was already too late, and he could do nothing but watch in horror as Charles tumbled over the edge.

_Blood._

"_Do you enjoy playing the protector?"_

_Shaw's smirk, his all knowing expression._

"_What, exactly, do you think _you're_ doing?" _

_Desperate, hollow eyes._

"_Where were you?"_

"Dear god, _no_!"

His cry was one of anguish, echoing loud and clear despite the sheer _noise_ that seemed to be surrounding them, his hand still outstretched, though there was nothing within reach. The sense of fear that filled him now was like nothing he had ever felt before, a cold, icy terror that tore reason from his mind and left hysterical desperation in its place, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as his entire being seemed to vibrate with the sheer agony of what was occurring before his very eyes. He _couldn't _lose Charles, not now, and not like this. He _would not_ be made helpless in the face of death again.

He did not lower his arm, keeping his hand extended, tuning out his natural senses and grasping instead for those his mutation had granted him. The suits Hank had made contained metal, enough for him to have been able to toss the three boys away on the beach in Cuba, and enough to halt Charles' headlong flight now, giving himself the time to fly across the remaining distance and seize a hold of the Professor's coat, hauling him back to safety with both his physical and mental strength.

The two of them fell back onto the scarred ground, gasping for breath, and Erik bit back a yelp of pain as one of the falling stones, the last remnants of the now calming maelstrom, caught him in the shoulder. Cursing liberally in between his strangled breaths, he launched himself to his feet, eyes searching frantically for his companions. The soft 'poof' behind him betrayed Azazel's position almost instantly, and Emma was already fighting her way towards them through the tangle of trees scattered across the cliff-top, her shimmering form reflecting the light of the moon that had just escaped its cloud cover. They were both safe, both alive, and, reassured on that count, Erik turned back to Charles, who was still seated on the ground, one hand resting conspicuously against the side of his head.

"Are you all right?"

"We're not alone."

Erik barely had time to absorb that chilling pronouncement before the presence Charles had sensed made itself known to the rest of them.

"Make one move, and you are all dead."

The soft rustle of movement all around them told Erik immediately that the speaker was not alone, and he hissed through his teeth, sensing the metal they held, and knowing, even as he did so, that there were far more of them than he could possibly hope to counter. Stopping a bullet was easy, stopping over two score of them, when they all came from different directions, was another matter entirely. If he managed to wrench their weapons away before they could fire, on the other hand...His goal now in mind, he readied himself to utilize his powers, but, before he could even lift his arm a hand landed on his sleeve, tugging the limb firmly back into place.

"Erik, _wait_."

Erik froze, his reaction to _that_ tone from _that_ man too ingrained now to be resisted, and the moment he had complied he realized the reason behind the rigidness of that command. Because those guns weren't pointed _at_ them, not anymore, they were roving, drifting back and forth as the soldiers slowly edged their way into the clearing, searching for the intruders they had been sent out to retrieve.

Intruders they could no longer _see_.

"Where the _hell_ did they go?"

"Charles...?" Standing at his side, the telepath was shaking with the effort of maintaining the illusion, his face twisted into a look of grim determination, and his breathing still far from level. Erik did not understand the reason behind that difficulty, for he had seen Charles achieve much more without even breaking a sweat, but it was Emma, not Charles, who answered his query.

"The other telepath is still trying to reach us," she stated calmly, though there was a tension lingering in her words that belied that placidity. "These shields are weak, and will only last for so long. We need to leave, and quickly."

"Moira first." Charles shook his head without dislodging the fingers pressed against his temple, already moving to edge his way around the soldiers drifting back and forth around them. "We can't leave without her."

"Charles! We can't..."

Before Erik could finish formulating that sentence, Emma gave a cry of alarm, staggering to the side and almost falling as her body shifted from its diamond encrusted form back to her more human appearance. Charles faltered at the same time, a look of sheer, unguarded alarm flashing across his visage as the soldiers about them suddenly took notice of their presence. There was a single moment of complete and utter silence as the two sides stared at each other, four mutants to at least a score of armed CIA agents, and then, like puppets all attached to a master string, the enemy moved, raising their weapons in perfect unison in response to their leader's shouted command.

"Take them down _now_!"

Erik didn't wait to ask permission, or waste more than a brief second considering his actions, seizing a hold of Emma with one hand and forcing Charles' back to his side with the other. With a single thought, he jerked the guns of the nearest soldiers to point towards their own allies, buying them what little time he could, even as he turned to shout at Azazel.

"Get us out of here!"

"_What_? No, wait...!" Azazel ignored Charles' breathless protest, heeding only Erik's command, his compliance to the order almost instant as he seized a hold of Emma's shoulder.

Their wooded surroundings wavered, then abruptly gave way to the soft, paneled walls and book lined shelves of the library. The stillness that came with the change was disturbed only by Charles' continued gasping as he sagged in the metal bender's grasp, and, concerned, Erik tightened his hold slightly, though he was hardly prepared for the way the telepath jerked away from him, whirling so that they stood face to face, and fixing him with the most venomous look of fury he had ever seen upon Charles' face.

"What in heaven's name do you think your _doing_?"


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: _Okidokey, these two chapters are, I think, where the possible OOCness begins. I've really tried to stay loyal to the characters core personalities, but this is the way my muse dictated the story was to go, and so its the way it inevitably went. I really hope I haven't strayed too far from the straight path, (be sure to tell me if I have, won't you?) and if anything seems a little beyond belief, just remember...I BLAME IT ALL ON THE MENTAL MANIPULATION!_**

_**Ahem, now that that is over and done with, I'd like to thank SJL for the two reviews left over the weekend, as well as everyone else who simply read this piece. A review a day keeps the writers block away. :-D **_

**Quote: **"You've got to give loyalty...if you want loyalty..."-**Donald T. Regan**

**/Chapter 8\**

**-Wounds-**

Raven heard the shouting long before she caught sight of the owners of the voices, the angry words that were being exchanged loud enough to reach Charles' study, despite the fact they were emanating from the library a whole floor below. Exchanging a quick glance with Ororo, offering the girl what she hoped was a reassuring smile, Raven commanded her to stay in place before rising to her feet and hurrying for the door, almost bumping into Hank in the hallway. The beast mutant's face was grim, and Raven wondered, even as she fell in beside him, what his enhanced hearing had picked up that she had missed.

They reached the library side by side, the door already slightly ajar, so Hank only had to nudge it gently with one hand to get it to swing open, though the sight that met their eyes was hardly what either of them had been expecting.

Azazel and Emma were standing alongside one another, off to the side of the room and well out of the way, looking rather ill at ease, or as ill at ease as Shaw's most stone-faced followers got, anyway. Erik stood in the very center, his head adorned by a helmet Raven had never wanted to see again, whilst Charles, her mild mannered, ever gentle brother, was shouting in his face, the look in the vibrant, blue eyes she knew so well as near to revulsion as Raven had ever seen them come. Charles had _never_ looked at Erik like that, not even after Cuba, and her heart sank with that realization, knowing, instinctively, that this was terrible in a way she could not have imagined.

"We can't just _leave_ her there!" Charles' voice was a mixture between agitation, rage, and disbelief, those three emotions reverberating throughout the air, escaping his shields, or too powerful to be constrained by them. "How can you even _suggest_ that?"

"Charles..." Erik trailed off, his expression impossible to read, before finding the words he sought and continuing. "She's a casualty of war, we can't save her."

"She's not dead."

"She fell off a _cliff_, Charles!" Raven gasped in shock, her hands flying up to cover her mouth, and she was dimly aware of Hank's hand coming to rest on her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.

It was Moira. _Moira_ was the one they were talking about. Kind, accepting Moira, who had never once baulked at her mutation, or Hank's, or anyone else's for that matter. Raven couldn't believe it. She _wouldn't_ believe it.

"She's _not_ dead." There was cold fury behind those three words, and, as Raven took a closer look at her brother, she realized he was trembling with rage, hands clenched at his side as his blue eyes bore into Erik's own. It was an expression unlike any she had ever seen on his face before, and she felt the last vestiges of hope fluttering in her heart begin to die. "I would have _felt_ it."

"Even if she's not, we can't help her." It was clear Erik did not believe Moira had survived, clear in his words and his tone, clear in his expression, and the way he was so obviously trying to soften the blow. He reached out, intending to place his hand on the telepath's shoulder, but Charles recoiled from his touch, backing away from him, that dark expression still lingering in his eyes. Erik visibly hesitated then, uncertain, before his own sense of justification won out. "Goddamnit, Charles! What did you want me to do? It was too much of a risk to stay there any longer, I didn't have a choice!"

"There is _always_ a choice," the telepath fired back. "What would you have done if it was me? Would you have left _me_ there as well?"

"_No_, I..." Erik was so horrified that Charles would even suggest such a thing he wasn't even aware of what he was implying until the other mutant spelt it out for him.

"So it's because she's human, then?" The telepath took a step forward now, anger radiating from his form, darkening the atmosphere of the room to the point where Raven almost wished she could turn around and flee. Shock held her in place, though, both at Moira's apparent death, and at what was taking place before her eyes this very moment. She had seen Charles and Erik argue before, but this was not just an argument, this was a fallout of massive proportions. "That makes her expendable, does it? Never mind what she's sacrificed to help us!"

"That's not what I..." Erik tried to explain, but he didn't get further than those four words before Charles had interrupted him again.

"It _is_ what you are saying, Erik! You _left_ her there!"

"I was trying to protect you!"

"I don't _need_ protecting!"

"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it." The metal manipulator had fallen back upon scathing now. "But your past actions have hardly inspired confidence in your own ability to survive. You're hardly a fighter, Charles."

"That doesn't make me helpless." Charles was still angry with him, even if his voice had grown quieter, it hadn't lost the undertone of fury. "I'm not going to let you place my safety above someone else's life. Moira deserves better than that."

"Your life is worth more than hers."

It was the wrong thing to say, and Raven winced as she watched the curtain fall across her brother's face, all expression, anger, grief, compassion, receding behind a steely wall that few knew he possessed. It was his last line of defense, erected only when all others options failed, and its presence alone was enough to tell her the repercussions of this night were going to go well beyond its ending.

What had _happened_ out there?

"You don't get to decide that," Charles informed him coldly. "No one gets to decide that. I want to go back. _Now_."

"Charles, you can't." Erik wasn't going to let that happen. "She's gone, you have to accept that."

"_No_, Erik," Charles shook his head, as adamant about this as Erik himself, though his next words caught them all by surprise. "I'm not like you. I _won't_ abandon her!"

Erik froze, the look of shock on his face almost painful to see, because Raven was fairly certain Charles was not even aware of the cruelty in that statement. Her brother was clearly upset, angry and worried, he had not thought about the words he was uttering, and he did not see the reaction he drew from Erik, the metal bender quickly hiding behind a mask almost as blinding as the helmet on his head that concealed his thoughts. Without another word he turned to Azazel and Emma, seizing a hold of the teleporter, before directing his attention back to Charles, his words firm.

"_You_ stay_ here_."

He didn't wait for a response, nodding to the teleporter, the three of them, for Emma had seized a hold of Azazel's arm at the last moment, vanishing instantly. It was only then that Raven felt it safe to make her presence known, though she was horrified to find, when she tried to speak, that the lump in her throat made it all but impossible.

"Charles?"

Hank, it appeared, had held on to some tattered strips of composure, choosing, for once, to use her brother's given name. Jerking slightly, the telepath turned to stare at them, and Raven flinched at the haunted look behind his eyes, lingering in the wake of the rage that had burned itself out. This was something that had cut deeper than the damage done in Cuba, for it was personal, a _friend_.

"Raven, Hank," he paused, his eyes drifting lower, and slightly beyond them, as he sighed. "Ororo."

Startled, Raven spun about, watching as the young girl slowly emerged from behind the tapestry that had been hiding her from view. Cursing herself for not realizing the child was present earlier, Raven watched in silence as she made her way across the room, hesitating when she came to stand before Charles, then blurting out an apology.

"I'm sorry!" It was an earnest whisper, her hands clenched before her as though to beg for forgiveness. "I didn't mean to listen in. I was just worried. Please, don't be angry."

"I'm not angry." Quite frankly, Raven thought Charles sounded too exhausted to even _try_ and dredge up any remnants of the fury that had gripped him before. Now that she had the time to truly _look_ at him, and not just his expression, she was also becoming aware of the dust that coated his clothes and hair, as well as the small scrapes and bruises only half hidden beneath the layer of dirt on his face. "It's all right, Ororo. I would rather you did not have to witness that, but what is done is done."

"Is Miss Moira okay?" Orora, reassured by that response, risked a glance upwards, youthful fear and hope intermingled on her face. Charles blanched at the question, the mask he was so precariously holding in place slipping in that instant, before slamming back into position as he smiled serenely, voice cracking only slightly when he responded.

"I hope so."

Raven envied the way the girl nodded, accepting that platitude without question, for she herself was barely holding it together, well aware there was little chance the reassurances were true. There had once been a time when she would have believed her brother's words as easily as the younger mutant, but the CIA's discovery of mutants, and everything that had followed on from that, had erased any illusions she might have maintained prior to those events.

"Well, Ororo," Hank broke the silence before it could become oppressive, extending a hand towards the young student. "I think it is past time you were in bed." He cast Raven a sidelong glance, acknowledging her nod of thanks with a brief inclination of his head. "Come on, I'll walk you up."

Satisfied now that her mentor was well, relatively speaking, Ororo went without protest, leaving Raven alone in the library with Charles, who was staring at the rug on the floor now, his expression hidden from her. Again the shifter hesitated, more uncertain now than she had been before, but she had to say _something_, if only to break the weighted silence.

"Charles?"

He raised his head slightly, blinking at her slowly, a hollow look to his eyes that twisted her stomach with fear.

"Raven."

It was a bare acknowledgement, nothing more, as if he had neither the strength nor the energy to dredge up more for her. Not knowing what else to do, she closed the space between them, wrapping her arms about him gently in a firm embrace, and releasing the breath she did not realize she had been holding when he returned the gesture.

"What happened, Charles?" She didn't let him go, taking comfort from his solid presence in her arms, knowing full well tonight could have ended differently. That Moira could not have been the only one lost.

_She's not lost yet_, she reminded herself forcefully, blinking back tears. _She's _not_ lost yet._

"I made a mistake." His voice was quiet, laden with self-reproach, and she withdrew instantly, not releasing her hold, but putting enough distance between them so that she could look into his face, reading in his eyes the same emotions she could feel. "This was my fault."

"I'm sure it wasn't." She didn't know the whole story, and so she couldn't honestly offer him that reassurance, but she tried anyway. "Even if you made a mistake, it _was_ a mistake."

"I should have known better," he shook his head, refusing the absolution she offered, jerking free from her loose grip and pacing back and forth before her in an agitated manner. "I let my focus slip, and I...I very nearly cost us everything. I could have...might have...it's likely I cost Moira her life. "

"Charles..." She didn't know what to say, what to _do_ to make this better. She wasn't used to having to support her brother, their roles normally the complete reverse of what they were now, and she was left floundering, groping for the right words, and knowing she was missing them by miles. "Erik will bring her back."

"Erik's the one who left her there to begin with!" She flinched at the anger in those words, finally able to pinpoint the reason for the fury she had witnessed earlier.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to, Charles."

"That's just it, though." Coming to a halt in the middle of the room, Charles ran his hands raggedly through his hair, the expression on his face morphing from anger to confusion and disappointment. "It was _deliberate_, Raven. He _knew_ what he was doing, what could happen if we left without her and he...he didn't..." He was unraveling before her very eyes, all traces of calm, all pretenses of control long gone, and Raven found herself incapable of doing anything to stop it. "For God's sake, Raven, how could he just _leave_ her there?"

Trying to justify Erik's actions had gotten her nowhere, and whilst she was sure there had been a good reason behind them, good intentions, at the very least, she knew there was no point in trying to press that upon Charles now. It was better to be honest, and hope she did no more damage than was already done. "I don't know."

"Neither do I." Lifting his head to meet her gaze eye to eye, Charles stared at her a moment, a million emotions flashing through the blue depths before her, a charged, twisted mess she could not even begin untangling. "Neither do I."

**1st Class**

"Well, sugar," Emma spoke as soon as their surroundings had settled, revealing the scarred landscape in all its hideous glory, the stillness now making a mockery of the earlier chaos. Back in her diamond form, she looked terribly out of place in their current surroundings, her voice just as jarring to the unearthly silence. "What now?"

Erik did not reply at once, moving slowly, cautiously, towards the scarp, staring down at the mangled mess lining the ravine floor below them, making sure of the fact the soldiers had departed. It was impossible, really, that anyone could have survived such a fall, for if the distance itself did not kill them the avalanche that had followed would. It was impossible, but Charles had been certain in his conviction, and, for all his ideality, he was not a man prone to delusions.

"_I'm not like you." _

The words had stung, drawing blood more effectively than a deliberate barb could ever have hoped to, all the more so because it was _true_. He _would_ have left the former CIA agent here, choosing his own life, _Charles_' life, over hers without a second thought, because that was what he had always done. His life and his needs had always been his first priority, and he had forgotten, in the moment when it mattered more than anything, that that was no longer the case. That, if he intended to stay where he was and be accepted back into the midst of those he had once worked in harmony with, he needed to learn how to be a part of a team once again.

How to be loyal to his companions.

_All _of them.

Instead he had allowed irrational fears and the enduring remnants of a few stray dreams to dictate his actions, following his emotions when he should have been following his head. It wasn't the first time he had done so, in fact his past was riddled with mistakes of a near identical nature, but it was the first time doing so had evoked such a painful reaction. He hadn't been prepared for the way Charles had turned on him, hadn't even thought the telepath capable of it, to be honest, so the shock had been twofold, and the guilt that settled in afterwards no less.

Exhaling heavily, he nodded towards the precipice, gesturing with one hand as he spoke, "We need to find Moira. Can you sense her mind?"

Emma hesitated, freezing in place as her gaze drew distant, and Erik's dread grew when she shook her head slowly. "If she is alive, I cannot feel her." Meeting his gaze, and no doubt reading the disappointment readily on display there, she offered him what she most likely knew was an empty hope. "Perhaps if we to try below?"

Nodding in wordless acknowledgement, Erik stepped back to Azazel. This time no command was necessary, and soon they were standing on the valley floor, assembled upon a large, flat boulder, staring out at the wreckage left in the wake of the landslide. The moon was shining brightly now, exposing the evidence of what had occurred in all its gory detail. Stones, trees, and loose rubble, all piled against the cliff-face, and Moira hidden somewhere amidst it all.

Maybe Charles _was_ delusion, or in denial, for surely no one could have survived this.

"Still nothing," Emma informed him, sounding unusually subdued, her eyes drifting absently across the carnage before them. She stiffened then, going rigid at his side, before pointing steadily with one hand. "Over there."

Following the line of her sight, Erik sensed the metal before he saw it, the gun the CIA agent had carried with her on this mission, though what she had intended to use it for he did not know. Scrambling across the uneven terrain, he honed in on the metal calling out to him, freezing once he drew close enough to see it clearly, lying in a mangled mess, half buried by loose dirt.

Dirt that had also stuck to its surface, made adhesive by the crimson substance that coated the weapon.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Erik turned away from the gun to study its immediate surroundings, the dread already formed in the pit of his stomach only growing worse when he found more traces of heavy blood loss, and none of Moira herself, though it was not until Emma spoke, her voice deadened, free of all emotion, that the last of the hope he had been clinging to, for Charles' sake alone, died.

"I can't sense her mind at all. Not here, not in the woods, and not inside the facility," the female telepath announced, turning hesitantly to face him as she delivered the final ultimatum.

"She's gone."


	10. Chapter 10

**Quote: **"If you want to see the sunshine, you have to weather the storm."-**Frank Lane**

**/Chapter 9\**

**-Wreckage-**

Moira was gone.

Not missing. Not absent. Not even cut loose with her mind wiped as he had considered so many months ago, when he could have, when he _should_ have sent her away from this. She was gone. Irrevocably, irretrievably _gone_, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to that.

Dear god, Moira was _dead_.

It was the only thought his mind would allow to take shape, a horrid, pulsing, living thread of agony that rent its way back and forth, reopening wounds that had not even healed again and again and again. He did not know how he had escaped from Raven's concern, nor how he had held himself together long enough to quietly leave the room when Erik had returned, not uttering a word, but telling all with his silence. All he knew was that he was alone now, standing, staring at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, and seeing nothing but accusation staring back.

Moira was dead.

He was to blame for what had happened, he knew, for it was his lack of focus that had caused Emma to baulk and Moira to become vulnerable, his foolishness in lowering his guard, even for that brief second, that had cost them everything. How many times had he been warned about this? By Erik? By Raven? By a dozen others who had all seen what he could not? They had _warned_ him about being more careful, less trusting, about looking before he leapt.

He had always assumed he would be the one to pay the price if he allowed faith to blind him to any form of danger, that he would be the one to reap the consequences of what he had sown. But it _hadn't_ been him, it had been Moira, and that realization was almost as painful as the single thought that had preceded it.

He could be angry at Erik all he wanted for the metal manipulator suggesting they leave her behind. He could be furious at Azazel for taking him away on Erik's command, ignoring his own protests, his demands that they go back. He could even blame Emma for not being strong enough to maintain the shields on her own. But, in the end, the only person really responsible for the way the mission had ended was himself. He, who had presumed himself strong enough to avoid the danger, and who, in his arrogance, had destroyed a woman's life.

_Moira's_ life_._

He struck the mirror in a blind fury, almost relishing the pain that vibrated up his arm as the glass shattered, slicing into his knuckles, and drawing blood that filled the cracks his blow had formed, if only because it drew his attention away from the irrepressible ache in his chest. This couldn't be happening. It _wasn't_ happening. It was just an illusion, a trick, a mind game. But his own eyes, staring back at him with a deadened gaze from within the fractured glass, told him this _was_ real, and there was no way, no means by which to deny that.

Shivering suddenly, he realized he felt cold. Cold and hollow, disconnected from his surroundings in a way that should have frightened him, but didn't. The present did not seem binding enough to keep him here, not now, empty of a presence he had come to anticipate being there. He had thought himself prepared for this, mentally braced against the possibility of losing one of those he loved, but, faced now with the reality, he felt utterly unprepared, standing, staring death in the face, with no thought in his mind but to demand it returned what it had stolen.

Turning, he pressed his back against the wall, sliding slowly down the wooden panels, ignoring the broken glass that crunched beneath his weight as he drew his legs up to his chest, burying his face in the fabric covering his knees, and praying that the world would just go away. He didn't want to face this, not this, though he would have withstood almost anything else.

And to think, to _know_ that he could have prevented all of this if he had simply sent her away as he ought to have done. If he had been able to let go, instead of clinging to a friendship, an affection that would never be permitted to grow. But he hadn't let go, he had held on, and had inevitably lost her in a way far more cruel than sending her away could ever have been.

Because Moira was _dead_, and it was _his_ fault.

**1st Class**

Erik knew this was not the first time he had experienced this particular déjà vu.

It certainly wasn't the first time he had found himself sitting in a dark room, alone with his thoughts, glaring at a chessboard simply because it was the only thing there, and he had lost count of the number of arguments with a certain telepath that had led him to this same position. The library was always his chosen refuge when their relationship buckled under the strain, a fact Charles knew just as well as he did. Usually, after a few hours had passed, giving them both sufficient time to cool down, the telepath would seek him out, and they would resolve whatever issue they had disagreed on over a game of chess.

Somehow, he didn't think that was going to happen this time.

He had never seen Charles so furious, so utterly consumed by rage. Even after Cuba he had restrained himself, holding in whatever resentment he had held towards Erik for what he had done, and focussing instead on reaching some form of compromise. This time there had been no backing down, no bending of his morals and ideals. Charles had been steadfast, the immovable object to Erik's unstoppable force, forcing the metal bender to realize this was one matter on which the telepath would never negotiate.

He should have known, really, what the other man's reaction to the suggestion of abandoning a comrade would be. Charles' loyalty, once earned, was completely beyond question, a devotion not even he, the greatest cynic of them all, could doubt. Charles would move heaven and earth to help his friends, to help a complete _stranger_, and Erik had, however unintentionally, tried to stop him from doing so.

He hadn't really been thinking at the time, not beyond the need to get Charles out of harm's way. Charles, who had clearly been the focus of that attack, and who they all needed to remain very much alive. But he knew that wasn't an excuse. He shouldn't have left Moira behind, no matter whether or not he had gone back for her, he _shouldn't_ have left in the first place. Azazel could have just as easily teleported them to the ground below as back to the mansion. He could have taken Charles away and left Emma and him behind, he had a feeling the telepath might have even accepted that, but he hadn't. He had left her alone, for dead, had not even spared a thought for her, if he was honest, and it was not until he had seen the complete and utter outrage on Charles' face that he realized he may have committed an offense for which there would be no forgiveness. He had found, apparently, the point where Charles' drew the line, then he had stepped over it, and Moira had paid the price.

If she had not been dead when they left, the soldiers had taken care of the rest.

"This could have been avoided, you know." He hadn't heard the door open, and he jumped at the unexpected interjection, whirling on Emma, who regarded him with the same blank arrogance she always did, her voice cool, but only just masking a hint of anger he had never heard there before. "If your telepath friend wasn't so afraid of using his own powers."

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, rising to his feet in a single, smooth movement, ready to defend Charles, only to baulk when he realized he didn't have to, because that anger was focussed on _him_.

He seemed to be upsetting a lot of telepaths lately.

"I mean you are a hypocrite," the blond snapped tautly. "A man who proclaims all mutant gifts should be embraced at the same time as he censures them. How many times have you asked him to stay out of your head, Erik? More than you have asked me, at least."

"What has that got to do with it?" he frowned, taken aback by the way she was all but _scolding_ him. He had never seen her like this before, and he wasn't sure how to deal with this new mood.

"Everything," she answered him curtly. "All telepaths need to learn control, it is a fact of life, and necessary if you wish to avoid going insane. But your Professor has learnt, not only to control, but to constrain, and that is a difference that should not be mocked. He's holding himself back, and you, _all_ of you, encourage him to do so," Emma gestured vaguely around the room, before bringing her steely gaze back to him.

"You're just as bad as Shaw," she began, and Erik felt both fury and fear rise within him in equal measure. '_You already are.' _"You only want him to use his gift when it benefits you, and the rest of the time you want to keep him on a leash. Charles is stronger than me, much stronger, but his powers have been limited by the wishes of those around him. He has been taught that to use his powers freely is wrong, so he has learnt not to expand them, but to lock them away. Until he overcomes that fear, there is no way his gift is going to fully develop, and he is certainly not going to obtain the strength necessary to combat this enemy," she paused, then, and something in her demeanor softened, a type of harsh honesty lingering in her next words.

"I can only protect you, Erik. I can't fight back."

"And Charles can?" Erik had felt the strength of the being that had come after them today, a power beyond anything he had ever felt before, and he could not hide his doubt at her conviction.

"He has the capability," Emma shrugged. "Whether or not he develops the necessary strength is a matter I leave in your capable hands." Turning on her heel, she made her way to the door, freezing with her hand clutching the woodwork, a quick glance over her shoulder accompanying her last words.

"After all, sugar, _you're_ the one whose been inside his head."

**1st Class**

"I don't believe it."

Alex looked shellshocked, his face pale beneath his mop of golden hair, blue eyes widening, bearing into Hank as he begged the beast mutant to tell him it wasn't true, that this was all some terribly bad joke, not horrid reality. But Hank couldn't tell him that, because it _was_ true, and there was nothing he could do to make it better.

"Oh, _hell_." Viciously, Alex turned to kick the nearest thing within range, the unfortunate chair tumbling to the side with a loud clatter, making Hank wince as he considered the children sleeping heedless above them. All of them, expect perhaps Ororo, were still oblivious to the tragic events unfolding around them. He was glad now he had sent Raven to Sean, not Alex, because the younger mutant would not react with such vehement fury, a fury that would have unlocked Raven's own boiling rage, simmering just beneath the surface in a way it had not done for months.

"I can't...Moira...Hell, this can't be..." Alex paused, exhaling slowly, running his hands agitatedly through his hair as he sought to find some sense of balance. Hank waited patiently, letting him recover from the shock, though he hardly welcomed the question that arose the moment the energy infused mutant had returned to more coherent thought.

"How's the Professor handling it?"

_How, indeed? _Hank didn't know, no one did, because Charles had chosen to withdraw from them, slinking away to hide somewhere where they could not find him. Raven was deeply worried about her brother's welfare, convinced, no doubt with good reason, that Charles was blaming himself for what had happened. Hank didn't know the full story, nobody had taken the time to explain, and once the news had come he hadn't even thought to ask, but he was sure there was more to it than that.

"I don't know," he answered at last, heaving a sigh, and wishing he could just go back to bed and awake from this nightmare. "I haven't seen him."

"I just can't believe this has happened." Alex was pacing now, seeking to ease his agitation by expelling energy, though his movements were too wild, too unconstrained to offer any sense of solace. "After everything we've been through...six whole months...And then she's gone, just like this...?"

"Erik was right." Hank slumped in his chair, recalling the council of war they had all attended prior to this unmitigated disaster, and the words uttered by the magnetic mutant. "We needed more information. He knew, I don't know how, but somehow he knew how this was going to end."

"So...what now?" Alex looked lost as he came to a standstill in the middle of the room, blond hair in disarray, face pale, eyes filled with a shadow that had not dwelt there until Hank had explained all that had happened. It was too much, really, too much for all of them, and he didn't have the answers Alex was looking for.

"I don't know," he answered instead, breathing the words out as a breathless sigh. "I just don't know."

**1st Class**

"Charles?"

Erik rapt lightly on the bedroom door, jumping slightly when it swung open of its own accord, revealing a darkened interior completely devoid of the telepath's presence. Frowning, for he knew this was where Charles had come in the wake of the news, he stepped inside, closing the door softly and sweeping the room one more time, before picking his way around the shadowy shapes the furniture formed in the darkness to the adjacent en suite, noting by feel, not by sight, that the lock to this door had been fastened.

Drawing himself up short, he stared at the wooden panels for a long moment, considering whether or not this was such a good idea. Charles was already upset, and with good reason, would trying to talk to him now, when that anger still had to be lingering, only make matters worse? Maybe, but he wasn't going to turn around and walk back out of here without at least checking on the telepath, and so, raising his hand, he knocked lightly against the timber frame. There was no response, and he hesitated, torn between leaving now whilst he still could and staying, though eventually, perhaps inevitably, the latter won out.

He had already walked away once tonight, he would not make the same mistake twice.

Moving his hand slowly along the doorframe, he felt for the metal of the lock, waiting until he could picture its shape in his mind before twisting his fingers, the latch following their path and coming free with a soft click. Still holding his breath, half expecting something to fly out of the room at him, he cautiously pushed the door open, one hand reaching for the light switch, though he was hardly prepared for the sight that met his eyes.

The mirror directly across from him was shattered, a round crater in its very centre sending cracks and splinters out in dozen different directions, whilst the glass itself was stained with blood. And slumped beneath it, face buried in his knees, trembling with enough force the motion was clearly visible even from this distance, was one Charles Xavier. For a moment Erik was too startled to do anything but stare, all the words he had prepared fleeing beneath the barrage of curses that rose in the back of his mind.

Someone should have checked on the telepath earlier, he thought angrily as he moved forward. Where was Raven? Or Hank? Or any one of the others? Where had _he_ been, wallowing in his own self pity whilst this was going on? They had been in a _battle_, for crying out loud, never mind that, for the most part, it had been fought on a mental plane, it was _still_ a battle, and, coupled with Moira's unexpected demise, it was surely more than enough to have induced this state of shock. Smothering another round of expletives, he crouched down beside his friend, electing not to touch him, though the hand that the telepath had used to drive into the glass was going to need tending to stop the bleeding fairly soon.

"Charles?"

To his great relief, the single word drew a response from the trembling form, albeit a sluggish one, as Charles raised his head slowly, blinking blearily at Erik, or rather _through _him, there was no focus in that gaze. Well, never mind, he would take what he could get for now, and that Charles was coherent at all was a good sign. Rising swiftly he made his way across the room to the medicine cabinet on the other wall, hoping the presence of children in the house meant Charles would be well supplied in all things injury related.

Having found what he needed, he returned to the telepath's side, setting the bandages aside in favor of the antiseptic ointment, because the last thing he needed right now was for Charles to die of a bloody _infection_. There was no resistance from the smaller mutant when he grasped a hold of the bloodied hand, but the application of the disinfectant, once he was certain there were no shards of glass left in the wound, drew a sharp hiss from his patient, and, though he did not bother to glance up, Erik knew those glazed eyes were regaining their focus.

Finishing with the salve, he laid the bottle aside and wrapped the dressing over the top, tying it off with the practiced ease his lifetime of fighting had given him, before rising to return the medical supplies to the cabinet. By the time he had done that, Charles was sitting in a more upright position, though his hands were still shaking, the white gauze only emphasizing the motion.

"Ow."

It certainly wasn't the most potent speech the telepath had ever made, but it was better than the deathly silence of a few moments ago, and Erik allowed the smile threatening to break past his defenses regardless to show, his voice a mixture of choked relief and amusement.

"Hitting a mirror will do that to you."

Charles, for his part, merely looked confused, and Erik smothered a sigh as he marched back across the room, sliding a hand about the smaller man's elbow and maneuvering him to his feet, glad for the pliancy his trauma seemed to have induced. Pausing briefly, he came to a decision, guiding the telepath out of the bathroom and the chamber it was attached to, headed for the stairs that would lead him to the kitchen. It was still far too late, or early, depending on which way you looked at it, for any of the children to be up and about, a fact for which Erik was extremely grateful, because he wasn't sure he would have been able to explain this to any of them.

Reaching the kitchen without being discovered, he forced his charge to sit down at the table, using his abilities to bring the tools he needed to their rightful places, though he could not help but wonder what Hank and the others would think if they saw him toting tea pots and spoons around the kitchen. They would most likely consider it a new method of murder, he thought grimly, waiting for the beverage to brew appropriately, a new art he had learnt during his time spent on the Estate, before picking it up and promptly shoving the warm cup of tea into the telepath's shaking hands, earning himself a droll look from the subject of his concern.

"I'm not an invalid, you know."

"Not an invalid, no," he shook his head, relieved by the normality of that response, but unmoving regardless. "But that's a pretty severe case of shock you've got going there, so stop talking and drink."

Charles complied without further debate, and Erik himself sat down on the other side of the table, not bothering to hide the fact he was studying the other man closely.

His intentions in seeking Charles out had been to apologize for his earlier actions, for leaving Moira behind, and to investigate whether or not anything Emma had said was true. It hadn't even occurred to him how deeply Moira's death might have affected the telepath, for he himself had never attached himself to the human woman. Imagining now, though, what his reaction would have been had it been Charles or Raven injured he cursed himself for being so blind. _He_ would have resorted to fury, to the anger that had carried him through every other tragedy in his life, but why on earth had he expected Charles to do the same?

The only time he had _ever_ seen the telepath truly angry was earlier tonight, not when all those men died at Cuba, and certainly not when Darwin had been killed. The former had promoted grief and desperation, desperation pointed at Erik as Charles tried to sway him from the path he had chosen. The latter had given birth to pain and self-blame, that had slowly been soothed away by the comfort of helping others. Loss had never prompted anger, and he was a fool to have forgotten that.

"I'm sorry." It took him a moment to realize the words were pointed at him, a moment later to register Charles was actually _looking_ at him now, and a few seconds more to figure out what it was he thought he had to apologize for. Once he had, though, he was hard pressed to hide his exasperation, forcing himself to remain calm as he responded.

"You cared about her a great deal, Charles, it's perfectly understandable." This wasn't the conversation he had imagined them having, but it was better than silence. "You were never designed for war."

"You make me sound like some sort of machine," the telepath complained.

"Not a machine," Erik answered him simply. "Just...not like me."

Charles blinked, taking a moment to realize Erik was echoing words he himself had uttered, though the way the color he had only just regained drained from his face as guilt formed was hardly the reaction the metal bender had been hoping for. "God, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he shook his head, trying to show the other mutant the true depth of his remorse. "You were right. It was wrong to leave without her, and more so still to think of not going back. I should have known better than to even suggest it. _I'm_ the one who should be apologizing."

"This was my fault," Charles disagreed, shaking his head and fixing a glare on the mug in his hands. "It shouldn't even have happened. I was too weak, I couldn't help Emma as I ought to have done, and now Moira is..."

It took him a moment to realize what was going on inside his friend's head, though once he had he reacted immediately. "Oh, no," he shook his head, slamming his palm down on the table, and making the other man jump at the sudden noise. "You are _not_ blaming yourself for this, Charles."

"But, I..."

"You what?" Erik demanded, pressing this matter for all he was worth, because there was no way in hell he was letting this go on any longer. "Threw the tree that knocked her over the edge? Pushed her yourself? Tossed the boulders that followed?"

"I lowered my shields." Charles' tone was anguished. "None of it would have happened had I not."

"Was it deliberate?"

"Was what deliberate?" Charles blinked at him, and Erik forced himself to keep his voice level, entirely calm, entirely reasonable, and entirely beyond argument.

"Did you drop the shields on purpose?"

"No." The answer was in the negative, but then he tried to quantify it. "But I should have been paying closer attention..."

"Did you let it happen without a fight?"

"Well, no, but..."

Erik ignored him, playing his final card. "Did you see her fall without trying to save her?"

"Of course not! But I wasn't..."

"No, Charles," Erik cut him off, never allowing that sentence to fully form. "No buts. You are _not _going to blame yourself for this. I won't _let_ you. It wasn't your fault, do you understand that? It. Was. Not. Your. Fault."

"Erik..." Fingering the cup in his hands, Charles frowned, the doubts he was feeling showing clearly on his face, so the metal manipulator pressed on, willing to spend the rest of the morning doing so if that was what it took.

"We all went knowing the danger," he reminded the other mutant calmly. "Moira perhaps more than any of us. Whilst we may wish otherwise, sometimes things do not turn out the way we want them to, and we have been fortunate that that has not been the case before now. I am truly sorry about Moira, Charles, I liked her too, she is perhaps the _only_ human I have liked since Shaw interfered, but you are not to blame for what happened, and you will not _be_ to blame unless you allow this to cripple you. Moira is gone, but there are others still here who need you. Don't fall apart on us just yet."

It was a cruel hand to play, perhaps, because Charles had always put the needs of others before his own, so Erik knew that, the moment he brought up the fact there were still people who relied upon him, Charles would force himself to go on, no matter his own feelings. But, in all honesty, he didn't know how else to make his point, and the telepath had always seemed to take comfort from helping others anyway.

"You're right," Charles sighed, his shoulders slumping with the gesture as he raised one hand to rub his forehead tiredly, the tremor in his limbs almost gone now, though the color of his complexion was scarcely any better.

"I know I am." Winning the battle was a relief, to the point where he was too relaxed to realize another was about to start.

"But you weren't before."

"I said I was sorry, Charles, that I was wrong." Straightening in his chair, Erik frowned at the other mutant. "What more do you want from me?"

"You promised, six months ago, to follow where I led." Charles was studying him with an acute gaze now, the sheer depth of emotion in his eyes difficult to comprehend, though disappointment was by far the most prevalent. "You have never broken that promise. Until today."

"I did not mean to." He doubted excuses were going to get him anywhere in this, but he had to try nonetheless, because the truth was not something he wanted to divulge to anyone, not even his most trusted friend.

"Then why did you?" Charles pressed, folding his hands around his empty mug, his grip neither loose nor tight. "I'm trying hard to understand your motives, Erik, because I _know _you do not make promises lightly, but you've been acting strangely for the past two days, trying to protect me even when I do not need to be protected. I appreciate the sentiment, honestly, but I don't understand what drives it. Why do you believe I am in such danger?"

"I can't tell you that." The look of disappointment and hurt he received in return almost made him rescind that comment, but he refused to draw Charles into his battle with Shaw a second time, especially not when this seemed to be a battle against his own inner demons.

He would fight it himself, and Charles would just have to accept that.

"I can't trust you, Erik, unless I know your reasons." The telepath sounded weary now, but resigned, as if this was the path he had predicted the conversation would take. "I always did before, even if I did not condone your actions, I always understood _why_ you reacted as you did. But I don't anymore, and if I cannot trust you, then I think it is best we do not work together until this issue has been resolved."

"You are sending me _away_?" This was not what he had expected, not by a long shot, and certainly not so soon after the loss of one of their own. To divide their numbers now, when they were so vulnerable, was madness! But Charles' expression was entirely sober, and he met Erik's incredulity with a firmness that seemed unshakable.

"You have left me no alternative, Erik."

"That isn't fair." He was angry now, wounded by the lack of faith being shown him, but Charles' eyes did not soften, and there was a note of steel in his voice when he replied.

"When you are ready to tell me the truth, Erik, then I will be willing listen. Until then, this cannot work. We are a team, and a team does not keep secrets that could potentially harm others. If you will not trust me with this, if I do not know what it is that is driving you, I cannot predict what you might do, and we lose our edge. We can't function like that, Erik, it is far too dangerous, for all of us."

Erik nodded slowly, recognizing this stalemate for what it was. Charles would not back down, and he likewise refused to yield, which left them both at odds with one another, further fracturing a bond that had come under a great amount of stress already. He thought they had mended this six months ago, back when they had come to an understanding, a compromise, but Shaw's memory, the CIA, and Moira's death had rendered what progress they had made useless, bringing them right back to the beginning.

Well, he had made his decision, and it was firm. He wasn't going to change his mind now, so instead he rose, offering Charles a slight incline of his head in lieu of a valediction, before turning and marching out of the kitchen without a backwards glance.

Had he looked back, he would have seen the moment when Charles' determined expression twisted into one of despair, his head falling into his waiting hands, leaving him the visible embodiment of their shared pain.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **So I was rewatching the X-men movie the other day to check up on some canon facts (movie-verse canon anyway) and checking up on the discussed limits/capabilities of individual powers, as well as the limitations we are shown, when it suddenly occurred to me... Has anyone else noticed the way Emma doesn't seem to be able to sense people the way Charles can? (I.E Erik in the water, and when he was searching for Shaw) I mean, yes she notices Charles when he is reaching out, but she doesn't notice Moira spying at the start, or Erik on the boat until he announces himself. This works perfectly for this story, actually, part of the reason I decided to bombard my readers with this random bit of trivia.

I'd also like to warn my readers/reviewers that I'm not sure if this update schedule will remain steady over Christmas. Now that the weather has finally settled here, I've been doing a lot more things _outside_ than _inside_, and writing fanfiction has to take a back seat to exercising my horse etc. I also have a job for a couple of weeks after Christmas looking after a two yearling colts with my sister, so I'm not sure how greatly that will impact on my time. I'll endeavor to update as regularly as I can, but I thought it only fair to let you guys know. :-)

Also, thanks for this post go to Adrian Nox, whose review reminded me I hadn't actually _posted_ this week...Uh, my bad?

**Quote: **"My friends are my enemies and my enemies are my friends"-**Anyad Nostaw **

**/Chapter 10\**

**-Weapons of War-**

_What am I _doing_?_

Charles closed the study door swiftly, almost collapsing against it the moment the entrance was sealed, fighting to remain upright as he sought to calm his raging mind, emotions he usually controlled with a rigidness that would surprise many escaping their delegated boundaries, making it all the more difficult not to project everything he was feeling throughout the entire household. But the question ringing around and around inside his mind refused to grant him reprieve, the doubt and guilt now assailing him staggering in its immensity.

Because he had, however unintentionally, driven Erik away.

He had tried to force the issue, as he had the last time, offering an ultimatum, but it had gained him nothing save a larger fracture in a relationship he had thought was healing. All he had wanted was for Erik to confide in him, to _trust_ him with whatever it was that was so clearly bothering the magnetic mutant, but Erik would not grant him that confidence, and he himself had proven incapable of convincing the older man otherwise.

Trust was such an important factor in their continuing alliance, the one thing that gave them an edge even their powers could not was the absolute faith they held in one another, and Charles knew it was far too important an issue to ignore, he merely wished he had been able to find the right words to actually make Erik see the same thing. Instead he had forced a confrontation when he was not fully prepared for it, and now he was paying the price for that folly.

Just another mistake to add to the stockpile he was accumulating.

Slamming the hatch down hard on that thought, determined not to reduce himself to a trembling wreck yet again, he made his way over to the window, gazing out sightlessly over the extensive grounds towards the sunrise just beginning to peak over the horizon. It seemed impossible that so much could have happened in just one night, but it had, and now he was left to pick up the pieces, _alone_, with no one to blame for his trials but himself.

Six months without mistakes, and when he finally made a misstep, it had to be ruinous.

He had had his doubts, right from the very beginning, over whether or not they would still be able to pull this off with such hostility forming against mutants. He had wondered if they were doing the right thing, had agonized over the decision, and it had been Moira who had found the right words to convince him what he was doing was _right_. She was the reason the school had gone ahead, despite the perils facing its existence, the one who had convinced him it was still possible, and now she was paying the price for her own words. She had put all her faith in him, and he had failed her, was it any wonder Erik refused to do the same?

The taste of failure was a bitter one, and he was having trouble working his way past it.

_Find the point between, _his own mind reminded him, years of study and observation informing him that grief was not so very different from rage, and true focus was surely what he needed right now. Closing his eyes wearily, he raised a hand to the side of his head, breathing in and out slowly as he sought to center himself. Whilst it might seem irrational to most, the physical movement had always been a great aid when trying to rein in his mental abilities, and it provided the grounding touch he needed right now to _force_ the control that usually came to him with ease, the effort it took posing a challenge it had not for many a long year.

"Professor?"

Startled, Charles realized he was no longer alone, and that, at some point during his internal debate, he had taken a seat on the windowsill. Frowning inwardly, but deliberately keeping the expression off his face, he turned to greet the owner of the young voice addressing him, not at all surprised by the presence of the speaker.

"Yes, Ororo?"

His voice refused to sound as serene as he would have liked, but his mask stayed in place despite his internal cringing, ensuring nothing but reassurance was displayed. Ororo, however, young though she was, did not appear to be a fooled, a sharp scowl forming on her face as she crept across the room to stand right in front of him, staring up at him intently with dark eyes that told him far more than she could have had she spoken aloud.

Then, wordlessly, the young girl climbed into his lap and threw her arms about his neck, her hold tight, supporting, but not clinging, and Charles found himself unable to do anything but embrace her in return.

**1st Class**

"Sleeping beauty awakes!"

She awoke to the feeling of an aching head, a body that felt as though it had been pummeled repeatedly, and the sound of a voice that was completely foreign to her. All in all, not an entirely pleasant combination, but one that did force her quivering eyelids to open fully, blinking in the muted, early morning sunlight. She did not recognize the room, though the metal walls and barred window _did _remind her of the CIA facility she had once all but lived in, and she certainly didn't recognize the face of the young man smiling down at her, tousled, caramel hair half falling into crystal clear, sky-blue eyes. Turning her head slightly to get a better look, she groaned as her vision swam and the ache in her skull intensified, earning herself a playful grin from her sole companion.

"And a good morning to you, too, beautiful."

"What..." Her throat was dry, and the word came out choked and hoarse. Without comment, the man retrieved a glass from the bedside table, helping her to lift her head just enough to take a few small slips, before settling her back down on the pillow. Swallowing the blessedly cool liquid, she waited a moment for her vision to clear again, before venturing to speak a second time. "What happened?"

"You tell me, sweetheart." Replacing the glass, he reseated himself casually on the chair she now saw was positioned to the side of the cot she was lying on, crossing his legs and folding his arms as he regarded her with a sober expression. "I found you half buried in a rockfall, looking like a corpse, and bleeding everywhere. You have a fairly nasty gash on your head, a broken wrist, which I've splinted, by the way, don't have any casts here, and enough bumps and bruises to make your own body sculpture. All of which, I might add, was acquired during an avalanche that took place _inside_ a restricted area."

_Oh god. _She remembered now, the absolute mayhem that had occurred the night before, the trees, _trees!_, that had been trying to kill them all, and the horrifying moment when she had lost her footing, plunging over the edge along with every last piece of debris. The last memory she could dredge up of what had happened was Charles, reaching for her in desperation, everything after that was completely blank, and she squashed down her fears for her companions, not wanting to give anything away, instantly aware where she was now was most likely not safe.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" The man was smiling at her, and there was an amused tinge to his words, his eyes glittering with the same emotion. It seemed an odd reaction for what she assumed was an interrogator, though his next words quickly changed that opinion. "Well, I can't say I'm exactly surprised. You had quite a reputation back in the day, Agent McTaggert."

She could feel the color draining from her face as sudden, cold terror gripped her, her eyes widening as she stared at him, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, before she finally recovered sufficiently to half form a response. "How did you...?"

"Know your name? Or that you existed?" He was still smiling, an amiable gesture, except she was convinced now he was merely hiding behind it, using his friendliness as a mask to get her to talk. "Well, the answer to both those questions is pretty much the same. My uncle worked in Division X, you know." A flicker of grief darted through his eyes, gone just as quickly as it came. "And so did I, just not on base. I'm a hacker, you see, and a doctor too, though the former is more of a hobby now. Anyway, my uncle worked in Division X, perhaps you've met him?"

He paused, as if waiting for her to draw the connection, but, when she did not speak, he continued on without prompting.

"He told me a lot about the people you were working with. Incredible, extraordinary individuals. He was so excited to have finally found them. Unfortunately, he never survived the attack on the department. I tried to find you, you know, Agent McTaggert, so imagine my surprise when I found out no one even _remembered_ you. That all your files had just vanished, the information stored on you with it. It was amazing, to say the least, to realize what the survivors of that attack were capable of, making people forget things like that. Amazing, and _terrifying_. I almost gave up then, you know, because, hell, I didn't want _my_ mind wiped, but then I realized why they did it.

"I saw the report on Cuba," he turned to her, expression entirely sincere, and his words equally so. "The _full_ report. They fired on you first, though they never told that story in public. Those people? The mutants? They hid themselves because they were afraid, because they knew the whole truth would never be told, because they didn't have a _choice_. So I never told. I never told anyone what I knew, though I'm sure Agent Stryker would pitch a fit if he found out I was keeping information from him."

"Stryker is here?" Panic flooded her upon hearing the name, and she tried to sit up, only to almost fall from the bed as dizziness struck her.

"Whoa, easy there, sweetheart!" Her companion caught her before she could fall, hurriedly rearranging her pillows with one hand so she could remain sitting up, though, even once he had settled her back into place he did not remove the hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder.

"Don't worry," he assured her frankly. "Stryker doesn't know you're here. It was me who found you, not the soldiers, and nobody disturbs me here. Being the best physician on site gives me a few privileges."

"You're a...doctor?"

"Didn't I say that already?" The boyish grin was disarming, and Moira forcefully reminded herself that this man was on the other side. The _wrong_ side. "I look after the kids here. I'm not a part of the main facility, they won't even let me through the doors unless its an emergency, but I have my own practice just a few yards away."

"Kids?" Moira felt fear again now, thinking back on the mutants Charles and the others had brought to the mansion. They had tried to save what children they could, but it was impossible they could have reached them all.

"This place is full of 'em," he nodded, apparently oblivious to the revulsion twisting her insides to shreds. "And a few other things beside. I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that, sweetie, even I don't know the whole of what's going on out here."

"Then why do it?" she stared at him pointedly. "Why _help_ Stryker, if you know what he is?"

"I'm not here for _him_." Those cerulean eyes had hardened into cold stone now, and Moira took a sharp breath, realizing almost immediately that there was more to this young man than that playful side. "I'm a doctor, Agent McTaggert, it's my job to heal people, and if I can help those kids in any way, if I can be the one kind presence they know in their lives, then I can't just turn around and walk away. Some of these children wouldn't know anything but hatred and disdain were it not for me, and the few other sympathizers who take the risk of showing them the odd kindness."

"I'm sorry." She had apologized before she even had time to think about it, his eyes softening immediately in response as he shrugged lightly.

"Don't be," he told her simply. "I can imagine what it must look like to someone like you. You've chosen a different way to fight this, a braver way, perhaps, and I admire that, but don't think that everyone else who works for Stryker feels the same way he does. Some of us don't have a choice, and some of us _do_, and we've made it," he paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, before tacking on an additional, somewhat belated, introduction. "My name is James, by the way, James Black. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Agent McTaggert."

"Likewise." She still wasn't sure if she could trust this man, though he seemed genuine enough, but she really didn't have much of a choice. She didn't know what had happened to Charles, or any of the others for that matter, and there was no way she was going to be able to get out of this mess on her own. "What's going to happen to me now?"

"Well, like I said, Stryker doesn't know you here, and neither does anyone else. It's probably best if we keep it that way for the time being." Rising, he began to gather up the supplies scattered on the bedside table. "I'll find a way to get you out of here, though, I promise, and maybe we can help your friends in the process."

"My friends?" Casting him a sidelong glance, Moira found herself treated to another grin, this one entirely laden with mischief.

"Wait and see," he told her. "Just wait and see."

**1st Class**

"This is depressing."

The statement was offhand, particularly given the one speaking was currently hanging upside down off the edge of the reading table, apparently unaware of the blood rushing to his head, but it still managed to adequately sum up the present mood. Hank, who had been diligently working his way through the large number of reports compiled by the students in need of marking, cast the speaker, Sean, a sidelong glance, before letting his gaze travel from the sonic mutant across the others currently gathered in the library.

Alex and Riptide had taken the class again today, meaning they were absent, and Azazel was gone, presumably back to the Sanctum with Erik. Emma Frost was sitting directly across from him, her legs crossed and her hands folded casually in her lap, but her gaze was distant, and not at all focussed on the present. Raven was present also, a book open on her knees, though she had not turned a single page in the last half hour, her eyes darting often to the door, or, bypassing that route entirely, and drifting upwards instead, towards the floor above, where Charles currently resided.

Hank might have been concerned by the amount of time the Professor was spending alone, had he not known that the telepath was not, in fact, alone at all. In the wake of the previous night's events, Ororo had made it her personal mission to see to it Charles was _never_ without company, displaying a devotion that had touched them all. The young girl didn't understand all that had happened, she didn't know Moira was dead, because the older mutants had kept that knowledge to themselves, but she _did_ know that the former CIA agent was gone, and she had picked up on Charles' misery just as easily as the rest of them. With Erik gone, and Hank _still_ didn't know what had happened there, her presence had seemed to be the only thing that drew Charles out of his shell, both the mask of solitude, and the pretense he put on for all their sakes.

That said, Sean _was_ right, and all of this _was_ depressing, though what they were supposed to do about it was beyond Hank. They knew now the truth behind Cerebro's 'malfunction', and they were aware of the methods being used against them, but nobody seemed to have any idea of how to react to this threat. Had Erik or Moira been here, the pair of them would have been suggesting plans to infiltrate the facility, or even just to destroy the carbon copy of Cerebro as a delaying tactic, but they were both gone, in completely different ways, and both had left a gaping void in their place.

"What do you think happened?"

Apparently not satisfied with leaving his prior comment to stand on its own, Sean added a second question, and Hank did not need to ask him to elaborate. All of them had wondered the same thing the moment they realized Erik was gone, without a word to any of them, and without taking either Emma or Orez with him. Charles had told them nothing beyond the fact that Erik hadn't actually_ left_, and, even then, he hadn't seemed entirely certain in his own conviction. It was concerning, and _disconcerting_, but Hank couldn't do anything about it either.

_Damn it all to hell._

"Really, hon, and in a _school_." Emma's droll statement informed him he had projected that thought vehemently enough for her to pick up, the cool smile she was giving him one of faint mirth. He expected her to leave her teasing at that, having had her amusement at his expense, but, to his surprise, she continued, "You know, I find it increasingly difficult to believe that _you_ are the band of mutants responsible for Shaw's downfall."

"And why is that?" Sensing, without the need for telepathy, the growing agitation in both Sean and Raven, Hank laid his pen aside, clasping his hands together as he eyed the blond with as much calm as he could muster. This had been much easier before his 'cure', when he had not had to worry so much about the animalistic instincts that had only grown greater with his physical changes, but he could still keep his temper better than most of the others on the Estate.

"You give up too easily, sugar," Emma returned immediately, giving her hand a dismissive wave. "You walk into a war, and then you act surprised when you get hurt, when someone dies. I'm sorry, hon, but that's what happens in a war, and if you can't cope with that maybe you should think about surrendering right now."

"We're coping just fine, thank you." Raven's tone was clipped, her eyes blazing, and Sean had bolted upright again, ignoring the dizziness that must have resulted from the motion as he sent a resentful glance towards the female telepath.

"Sure you are," Emma shrugged, undeterred by either of their reactions. "If by coping you mean burying your heads in the sand."

"Well, what do you _expect_?" Sean demanded incredulously. "Someone just died, are we supposed to just _ignore_ that?"

"Grief is a weapon, sugar. It can be used, just like anger, or any other emotion." Fixing her eyes on each of them in turn, Emma enunciated each word slowly, forcefully, ensuring there could be no mistaking her meaning. "The question is whether you're going to make it theirs, or _yours_."

"You seem quite knowledgeable on the subject," Hank observed cautiously, still suspecting some sort of trap.

"And you think I'm not?" Emma answered him coolly. "You forget, sugar, that I was not trained by kindness and encouragement. _My_ teacher used everything and anything available to him to advance the powers of those under his tuition. For a telepath, emotions are one of the strongest weapons available, both to use on others, and to have used on themselves."

"I don't understand." Raven's face twisted into an expression of confusion. "How are emotions a weapon?"

"A telepath's ability is directly linked to their emotional state," Emma shrugged, not at all deterred by the fact she was now the centre of attention. "Being able to find and hold oneself in a centered state of complete calm takes years of practice, no matter how strenuous one's training might be, and once you have mastered your own emotional state you have to learn to tune out that of others. Even a fully trained telepath cannot always block out emotions, and those who have the misfortune of empathy as well are particularly at risk, because they not only sense, but _feel_ the emotions as well. That is when you must learn to use grief, and anger, and anything else that might otherwise hold you back."

"Okay, then," Hank simply nodded. "What do _you_ think we should be doing?"

Rising to her feet, Emma beckoned for Raven to join them about the reading table, pushing the reports off to the side and out of the way, and gesturing for Sean to take a seat _at_ the table rather than _on _it. Once they were all gathered around it, she seated herself at its head with a flourish, leaning back in her chair with the air of one completely at ease with her surroundings, and only then answering his question.

"You are _all_ looking at this the wrong way," she informed them serenely. "You are asking yourselves how you are going to deal with the threat you have discovered, and none of you, not one, except, surprisingly, your precious Professor, has actually considered _how_ this threat originated."

"What do you mean?" Sean frowned, clearly puzzled, though Hank was beginning to form a suspicion as to what she was talking about. "It's the CIA. What more is there to it?"

"Of course, the CIA," Emma waved her hand again, all but ignoring the sonic mutant. "And it is perfectly logical that the CIA should know how to reconstruct Cerebro, even though great care was taken to destroy that information."

"How _did_ they do that?" Raven, who, up until now, had been wearing an expression of open hostility, suddenly lost her frown of resentment to one of concern and unease.

"They would have had to see the plans," Hank realized, wondering how on earth he could not have thought of this before. "But that means..."

"That means, sugar, that the one responsible has been, and possibly still _is_, on the Estate." Emma gazed around the table, before dropping the final bombshell into the silence.

"There is a traitor in our midst."

**1st Class**

"It seems so cliche to say 'I told you so', but I doubt more fitting words could be found."

Erik frowned, glaring hard at the reflection standing just behind his right shoulder in the mirror, and willing the man to just vanish. To go back to hell. Shaw merely laughed in response, tapping at the helmet that adorned his head, a familiar, sadistic smile twisting his lips upwards.

"Things don't seem to go well for you when you wear this, do they, Erik? Or is it just when you try to protect things?" Chuckling softly, he lowered his hands, cocking his head to the side, gestures Erik saw in the mirror only, for he refused to turn around and give credence to the man's existence. "Your little telepath doesn't appreciate being kept safe, I see. Well, never-mind, I'm sure he'll come to appreciate it in due time."

Erik ignored him, or, at least, he tried to, clinging to the childish belief if he did so the man would simply vanish, and leave him alone with his thoughts for once. He had needed to get away from the Estate, from Charles, and from the fracturing remains of their friendship, so he had come here, to the Sanctum, hoping a little solitude would bring him peace. So far, it had done nothing but remind him how used he had become to the company of others, and how dark his nightmares could become.

"You shouldn't fret so, Erik," Shaw chided him, seemingly content to carry on his monologue without encouragement. "I'm sure he'll forgive you with his dying breath, the very same moment he realizes you were right all along."

Erik's fists clenched at his sides, and his body trembled with the force of his concealed fury, but he _refused_ to give Shaw what he wanted. The man was _dead_. He had no power over Erik anymore, no more than what Erik chose to give him.

"Oh, I never had power over you." Drifting casually around the mirrored room, Shaw paused on the opposite side, staring at his own reflection, so that Erik could see both the back of his head and the front at the same time. "You were always too..._wild_ for that, Erik. You were an amusing pet to play with for a while, but all pets seem to outgrow their owners.

"I warned you, you know," he continued conversationally, after only a brief pause, during which time Erik concentrated firmly on the mundane task of breathing. "I told you you were destroying everything you touched, but you were so insistent. You always did have to do everything your way, the _hard_ way, but you still reach the same conclusion in the end.

"What was it you told me, the last time we spoke?" Turning back to Erik, he smirked, eyes glowing beneath the shadowed helm adorning his head. "'_He already has'_, you said, Erik. But if that telepath saved you, then why are you here? Why are you not _home_? Or have you finally pushed the limits of the one man whose boundaries were loose enough to let you slip inside?"

_Don't answer. _Don't _answer_. _Don'tanswerdon'tanswerdon'tanswer. _

The words reverberated inside his mind, echoing around and around in a continuous cycle, and he focussed on them with all his might, determined not to let the madman reach him, not this time. This was _his_ mind, he was in control here, and he wasn't going to let Shaw affect him any longer. Doing so had already cost him far too much. This was a battle he _had_ to win, because it was the only way he was ever going to be able to regain what he had come so terribly close to losing.

"Ah, well," Shaw exhaled slowly, shrugging his shoulders in a disinterested gesture. "It was always inevitable, I suppose, with your stubborn nature. It should be interesting, though, watching to see who breaks first."

Erik gasped despite himself, and, in the mirror, Shaw smiled, the gesture cold, cruel, and calculated.

"Which will it be, Erik?" he taunted. "You, or him?"

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Erik spun about and lunged at the other mutant...

...only to have to throw a hand out to save himself from a potentially painful collision with the floor. Gasping slightly, both from the shock of the unpleasant awakening and the dream that had preceded it, he pushed himself upright into a sitting position, casting a habitual glance towards the clock beside his bed, and almost groaning aloud when the hour registered in his mind. It was early, too damned early, and he knew full well this was going to be another day spent without the sleep so necessary for the human body, and mutant too, it seemed, to survive.

Dead or alive, Shaw still had a lot to answer for.

Dragging himself to his feet, he kicked his way out of the blankets that had entangled his limbs, moodily stamping his way across the room to the basin to perform what was swiftly becoming a morning routine. These nightmares were starting to dictate his life, and, as he stared at his own haggard reflection, Erik forced himself to confront the fact this _couldn't_ continue.

Charles was _right_, damn the man, he _needed_ to talk to somebody about all of this, about the dreams, and Shaw, and this irrational fear he had developed all because of a few accursed _nightmares. _He needed to talk to somebody, but he couldn't quite bring himself to thrust this on Charles. Not now. The telepath's grieving gave him the perfect excuse for not doing so, even though the true reasons were lingering there in the back of his mind, buried deep but present nonetheless, something he did not want to even _acknowledge_, much less confront.

But if not Charles, then who? He could not return to the mansion if he wanted to avoid the telepath, and Azazel was hardly the type for heart to heart conversations, even if he would have filled the role of silent listener extremely well, Erik would not feel comfortable, or, rather, he would feel even more _uncomfortable_, speaking with the teleporter. Which left him with few enough options, and none he would have chosen out of anything less than desperation.

But desperate times called for desperate measures, and he _knew _this had to stop

**A/N 2: **I know you guys are probably getting tired of reading my ramblings, but there are a couple more things I need to say. First of all, apologies for the single chapter this week. The next one, and a couple after that, are already written out in full, but I haven't had time to revise them, and I won't post them until I have. Secondly, as a matter of interest, 'James' is _not_ actually on OC. His name and basic character have been lifted from another favorite movie of mine, though in his original 'world' he is not a doctor.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Later than I wanted to be, but hopefully the volume makes up for the tardiness. Consider this a belated Christmas Present, or a New Year's gift, whichever suits you best.

**Quote: **"If you want to make peace, you don't talk to your friends. You talk to your enemies."-**Moshe Dayan **

**/Chapter 11\**

**-Resurrection and Redemption-**

By the morning of the second day, Moira was feeling well enough to move around a little without the room turning into a blur of colors and vague, blurry shapes. Her head still ached, and her wrist was a constant impediment to anything she wanted to do, but she could move now, and with that freedom came the lessening of some of the unease she had been nursing since first awakening to a less vehement hum in the back of her mind. James had been in and out all of the previous day and once already this morning, bringing her her meals and sometimes just sitting with her to keep her company. She still did not know who the relation he had had in Division X was, but the young doctor seemed sincere in his conviviality, both towards her and the children he was tasked with caring for.

She had seen glimpses of those children from time to time, staring from the barred window of her room across at the larger facility. Mostly it was the wistful faces at the upper story windows that caught her eye, but now and again there was a flicker of movement lower down. Other than that, she had seen little of the occupants of this place, and certainly nothing she could take back with her when she escaped.

_If _she escaped.

Sighing heavily, she settled her weight on the edge of the cot she had awoken in, resting her injured wrist in her lap and studying her accommodations for the umpteenth time. Sitting here, doing nothing but wait, wore on her already fragile nerves, but there was nothing she could do without endangering both herself and the young man who had already risked so much in keeping her here. If Stryker discovered she was here...well, it was not a pleasant thought, and, whilst she chafed against the invisible bonds holding her immobile here, she knew better than to act in haste.

She still didn't know what had become of her companions, although James had been swift to reassure her that she had been the only one found. The soldiers had not brought back any prisoners, despite sighting them, and thus she could safely assume that Charles and the others had gotten away safely. She was glad of that, and glad that they had not endangered themselves by attempting to rescue her, but she knew every moment she stayed here made that second eventuality all the more likely. Erik may be able to dissuade Charles to a point, but the telepath would never settle for leaving her here.

"Doctor James!" Startled, Moira jerked her head up as the door flew open and a young woman, who could have been no older than Sean, stumbled into the room. "Doctor James, where are..." she trailed off, dark brown eyes alighting on Moira and widening in unconcealed surprise. Moira herself was similarly rendered speechless, and it was not until a second figure appeared in the doorway that the ringing silence was broken.

"Kayla?" James stepped through the entrance and closed the door with a firm 'thud', the look he threw towards the newcomer full of concern. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Finding her voice again, she hastened to explain, "It's John, Doctor. Stryker found out about what he did and...Who is this?" Abruptly recollecting Moira's presence, she turned to stare at the CIA agent, her eyes unreadable, and more than a little wary.

"This is Moira," James introduced her. "Moira McTaggert. Moira, I'd like you to meet Kayla Silverfox."

"You mean this is..." Kayla's eyes widened a second time, before her gaze drifted from James back to Moira. "_You're_ Agent McTaggert?"

"I _was_," Moira nodded, wondering how many people still knew she had ever been a part of the CIA. One when they had hoped for none was bad enough, but now it appeared more people than James had uncovered the deception Charles and Emma had so carefully woven. "I left the CIA some time ago."

"You were with Division X, though," Kayla pressed, and the light that now appeared in her dark eyes was something akin to excitement, a hope painfully familiar, for she had seen a similar expression on far too many young faces of late. "You know of the others!"

"Others?" Moira looked to James uncertainly, unwilling to give more away than what these people might already know, though the young doctor merely shrugged.

"She means the mutants who were attached to that department," he explained. "Nobody remembers who they are, of course, but we all know they existed. Finding them has been Stryker's main goal for months. If he knew you were here..." He allowed that sentence to hang, knowing, just as well as Moira did, that more did not need to be said. "Kayla, you said someone was hurt...?"

"Yes." Kayla's face darkened instantly, and there was anger manifesting in her expression. "Stryker found out about what John tried to do. I don't know what happened, the guards wouldn't let me follow, but he was unconscious when they brought him back, and he won't wake up."

"Drugged?" James was already gathering up supplies from the cabinet on the other side of the room, and by the practiced way the question was voiced Moira did not doubt this had happened before.

"I don't know." Frustration sounded clearly in the young woman's voice. "He has a head wound, but I can't tell how bad. He wouldn't respond to me at all, not even when I 'touched' him."

Something about the way that word was spoken told Moira it meant more than it seemed, and the grim look on James' face when he at last turned back to face them both only confirmed that.

"Drugged _and_ wounded most likely," he told them simply. "Do you have permission to take me in, Kayla?"

"Yes, Stryker is in the machine again with Mr.S," Kayla shuddered. "We have about an hour, I think, before he'll want a full diagnosis."

"Not long," the young doctor grimaced. "But it will have to do. Moira, I'd like you to come with us."

Startled, Moira threw him a surprised glance. "But, I thought..."

"Stryker is occupied," James told her. "And Kayla can take care of anyone else we might encounter."

"You're a mutant?" That much had been pretty obvious from the moment this discussion began, but Moira had to ask anyway, and she received a brisk nod in return.

"Telepath and empath," Kayla answered her. "But I have to be touching someone for it to work, otherwise Stryker would never let me run loose."

"Kayla's in charge of keeping the other mutants 'in line'." There was a sharp note of disdain in James' voice, and his young face was twisted into a similar show of emotion. "And making sure they stay alive. Anyway, explanations can wait. We need to go. Are you coming?"

It was risky, more likely a lot more dangerous than either of the pair before her were letting on, but, if this was to be the only chance she had to look inside the facility, then she wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

"Of course."

**1st Class**

"Mr. Lensherr!"

Angel froze with one hand still holding the door ajar, her eyes wide, and whatever words she might have prepared lodging in her throat. It was still too early in the day for the club to have any patrons, and most of the workers who assisted her in running the place were not yet here either, but she had assumed the knock on the door was one of the club's informants, not all of whom timed their visits to coincide with the regular gatherings. To see Erik standing on the doorstep, looking tired and worn and slightly bewildered himself, Azazel hovering inconspicuously in the hallway, was a possibility she had not even entertained, leaving her wholly unprepared as to how to react to it.

"Angel," he inclined his head slightly by way of a greeting, but said nothing more, his eyes sliding over her shoulder and into the room beyond. Swallowing sharply as she realized she was going to have to take command of this conversation, Angel stepped aside, gesturing with her free hand.

"Would you like to come in?"

He nodded wordlessly, stepping inside the door, and allowing her to push it closed when Azazel made it clear he had no intentions of following. Not knowing what else to do, Angel padded her way down the corridor and back towards the main entertainment lounge, crossing the very centre of the room to the spinning booth, knowing any conversation they might have would be less likely to be interrupted in the secret room.

Erik had been to the club prior to her instatement here as hostess, so he followed her lead without question, though, once they were safely ensconced within Shaw's old study, Angel found herself at a loss. The metal bender had not said a single word since his monosyllabic greeting, and it did not seem likely he was going to break it now, browsing noiselessly through the books clogging the shelves.

Angel watched him for a few moments, twitching awkwardly, before, unable to contain herself any longer, she blurted, "Can I help you with something, Mr. Lensherr?"

"Erik," he corrected her calmly, finally turning away from the books to actually look at her, though his eyes met hers for only a brief second before they strayed again. He seemed on edge, but Angel had no idea why. She had never been as at ease with Erik as she had been with the Professor, but she had never seen him like this before either, which left her doubly unable to decide what her response should be. "I...needed to ask you something."

"About the Club?" _This_ she could do. She had learnt the ins and outs of this place as thoroughly as was possible, she knew every informant by name, and she knew who had the most reliable sources. The brief surge of confidence that had swept through her was shattered, however, when he shook his head.

"No. This is slightly more...personal."

"Oh." She didn't rightly know how to reply to that, so she settled for that one word. "What was it?"

"It is difficult to explain," he breathed out an exasperated sigh, and she watched the play of emotions that danced across his face with interest. Her line of work had turned reading people into an art form, but this man was a puzzle she had yet to solve. "I don't even know why I'm here, really, except that you seemed like the most likely person to understand, and I wanted...I _needed_ to talk to someone."

"Understand what?" Perching herself on the edge of Shaw's desk, she forced herself to stop twitching. One of them acting like a nervous, caged animal was quite enough, and, though it surprised her that _she_ should be the one filling that role, _one_ of them needed to remain calm.

"Charles and I had an argument," Erik grimaced, and resumed his pacing up and down the wall, not even making a pretense of looking at the books this time. "It was somewhat inimical."

Well, she couldn't exactly say she had been expecting _that_. But there was more here, she knew, so she chose to dig deeper. "May I ask what it was about?"

"Over whether or not it is right to choose flight to safe ground over rescuing a comrade."

"Oh."

_Oh_. She understood, now, why he had thought _she_ would understand, because, though her choice had not been quite the same, she _had_ chosen flight and abandonment over remaining in a place where she felt neither safe nor like she belonged. She wasn't sure if the others had forgiven her for that yet, for leaving, even after Darwin had been killed. Even Charles, though gentler with her than the others, had made sure to point out that she _had_ wronged them badly and that it _would_ take time for her to earn absolution. She had accepted that now, realizing she must pay the consequences for her actions, but she never could have predicted _this_.

Charles and Erik had always seemed like the perfect team, never presenting anything less than an united front, reaching solutions such as that she herself was living together and without argument. Whatever had happened to cause this breach must have been severe, and she toyed with the idea of backing out of this discussion, unsure whether this was safe ground to be treading, before realizing she didn't really have a choice.

"What happened?"

"We went to investigate the cause of the disturbance." Given a direction, he seemed more than ready to talk, and Angel let him, listening without comment. "There's a CIA facility, hidden in bloody _Canada,_ of all places, and we went to scout out the area. We found the place, and the reason they have been able to block Charles, some sort of copy of Cerebro. Our intentions in being there were not to engage, just to observe, and, because we had suspicions our enemy was a telepath, we had taken Emma with us as well to provide shielding from any sort of mental assault.

"I'm not sure what happened." Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled heavily, shaking his head briefly. "But, somehow, that shield got cracked, and we were discovered. I cannot say with any certainty what happened next, but I believe our enemy might also be telekinetic. Regardless of the cause, the terrain turned against us, and Moira, who was with us at the time, got caught in an avalanche. Charles tried to save her, and almost got himself killed in the process, but I forced him to leave and had Azazel teleport us back to the mansion. He refused to leave it at that, though, and insisted we return to find Moira. I did, eventually, but by then it was too late."

"She was dead?" Angel prodded quietly, more wounded by that news than she might have expected, given how little she knew the woman.

Erik nodded mutely, and her breath caught in her throat as she drew the parallels between his situation and her own. They were not the same, not by any means, but their transgressions were similar in nature. She wracked her mind, searching for something to say, but before her thoughts landed upon the right answer he was speaking again, frustration and no small amount of anger lacing his words.

"I was only trying to protect him," he snarled, staring into space, as though he had forgotten she was present. "Is that so hard to understand? She was _gone_, there was nothing to be done, and the living always take priority over the dead."

"Was she..." she paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Was she dead when she fell?"

"Charles said she wasn't." And just like that, the anger bled out of his frame. "He believed we could still have saved her. He blames me."

"For her death?"

"No." His face twisted into a grimace. "No, he blames _himself_ for that. He blames _me_ for not even trying to help her, for walking away when he thinks I shouldn't have."

"Should you?" It was a blunt question, and probably not the safest thing to say to a mutant who could murder her within seconds, given all the metal present in this room, but Erik did not react with anger, staring at her hollowly for a moment, before shrugging.

"I don't know, and that's the problem. I didn't even _think_ about her until after we were safe, and Charles insisted we go back. The moment she fell, I just assumed she was gone, and put her out of my mind."

"Because you were trying to protect the people still there to protect," Angel concluded. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"And leaving her behind?" he stared at her intently. "Are you going to tell me there is nothing wrong with _that_, either?"

"You thought she was gone." Angel really had no idea what she was doing here, and it was a matter of fumbling her way through, and hoping she didn't mess up so badly he ended up killing her. Though, she didn't really believe he would do that, not now. "It was a logical decision, wasn't it? I mean, I've never been in a situation like that myself, but so far as I know nobody stops in a battle to mourn for the dead."

"I don't think that was why he was angry with me." Lifting a book from the shelf, Erik toyed with it, flipping back and forth through the pages as he finished his statement. "It was refusing to go back once I found out there was a possibility she was still alive that did that, and then telling him I never would have left had _he_ been the one to fall."

"You know him better," Angel winced, well beyond comfortable depths now.

"That's not an excuse," Erik shook his head, slamming the book shut, and ignoring the way the motion made Angel jump. "They were _all_ my comrades, and _our_ responsibility. You never abandon a teammate in battle, Angel, _never_, especially not when you are in charge of their safety, and I _did_."

"Why?" she blinked at him, still probing, knowing they had not reached the core of the problem yet.

"Because," he answered simply. "Charles' life was more important to me than hers."

"But he doesn't want it to be."

"What?" Erik stared at her, and Angel resisted the urge to squirm beneath his scrutiny.

"The Professor," she explained hesitantly. "He doesn't want you to value his life over somebody else's." He was still staring, so, fumbling only slightly, she continued, "You said yourself it's the leader's responsibility to make sure everyone stays safe. By making you think of everyone else first, isn't that what he is doing?"

Erik simply continued to look at her, unblinking, as though she had suddenly transformed into an utter stranger right before his eyes. Nervous, not knowing what else to do, she kept on talking, praying she was not digging herself into a hole too deep to climb out of.

"I don't know him as well as you do, Mr. Len...Erik, but I have seen enough, I think, to realize the Professor doesn't often think of himself. When I was leaving, he mentioned that I had wronged the others, but he never pointed out I'd walked out on him as well."

"Selfless," Erik murmured, before frowning. "_Stupid_. Doesn't he know how important his survival is to all of us?"

"I doubt it," Angel shrugged. "Do you think he even knows what he does?"

"He knows he's the only thing stopping us from tearing each other to shreds when we argue, at the very least," Erik was still scowling, his arms folded across his chest. "The rest just stands to reason." He hesitated, shaking his head as he added, "I _was_ wrong, but so was he. His life _is_ more important than hers."

"Maybe you should explain that to him," Angel suggested. "It might help."

"It might," he conceded, tilting his head slightly. "But it won't fix this, because he knows there is something more going on."

"Is there?" She wasn't sure whether he had meant to tell her that, and the look he cast her when she asked that question told her he probably hadn't, but he replied anyway.

"I probably still would have insisted he leave the danger zone," he said calmly. "But I might have stayed myself had the situation been otherwise."

"What situation?" All she seemed to be doing was asking questions, but it was helping, or appeared to be, so she didn't stop.

"Someone..._something_," he grimaced, correcting himself. "Something implied the Estate, and Charles, were in danger. My first thought when the attack happened was that Charles was its target, so, when Azazel transported the others away, I went with them."

"Because you were worried the danger wouldn't disappear with distance," Angel realized. "You thought the Estate might not be secure...But, then, why didn't you tell the Professor that?"

"It's not something he needs to know." Erik set his jaw stubbornly, and Angel had a strong suspicion _this_ had been the final straw that broke the fragile strands between the metal bender and the telepath.

"Are you so sure?" Angel pressed, earning herself a baleful glance she forced herself to ignore. "Mr...Erik, if the Professor understood why you did what you did, I'm sure he'd forgive you. He...He forgave me because he understood, and, if he really is in danger, how are you going to protect him from here? Besides, you've told _me_." And she _really _didn't know why. "Why not tell him too?"

"Because he would want to know what it was that had made me believe." Erik turned away from her, the tension in his shoulders clearly evident.

"You said it was 'something'," Angel recalled. "Not someone. Was it something you saw, then?"

"In a way," he hesitated, and she could see the battle being waged inside his mind, even without being able to read his face. It was there in the tension practically radiating from his form, and the way his hands clenched and unclenched, before, at last, he uttered the truth so quietly she nearly missed it. "I've been having dreams."

"You mean visions?"

"No," he signed in the negative. "I don't think so. I've never had visions before."

"But you still think they might mean something," she pointed out, to which he replied with the most complete response he could have offered.

"Shaw was in them."

"Shaw..." she trailed off in horror, before shaking herself, forcefully reasserting her control. "He's dead, Erik."

"Then what is he doing inside my head?" the metal bender snapped, whirling on her in a rage. "_Now_ do you understand? I _can't_ tell Charles about this."

"I'm sure he'll understand..."

"He _won't_."

"You don't know that," she insisted, before another realization struck. "You're _afraid._" He baulked, and she knew, then, she had unintentionally struck a nerve. Quietly, she asked,_ "_Why?"

"There is a madman in my _head_, Angel," he stared at her blandly. "Why _wouldn't_ I be?"

"But you're afraid of _Charles_." It was the first time she had really used his first name, but she hardly noticed. "Of him _knowing_. I don't understand."

There was silence for a moment, as he stared at the floor and gathered his thoughts. Angel simply waited, silently and patiently, until he was ready to speak.

"Charles has embraced and accepted a lot of things many people wouldn't," Erik sighed at last. "There has to be a limit somewhere."

"You think he'd send you away?" Angel couldn't believe her ears, and her incredulity must have shown on her face, because the other mutant instantly bristled.

"You act as if it is an impossibility," he snarled, whirling and beginning to march back and forth across the room. "Well it _isn't_, Angel. There are lines, there are limits, Charles can't accept _everything_."

"Only because you don't want him to," Angel fired back. "You've been here for six months, you've realized this is becoming permanent, and you're afraid of removing the one doubt that stops it becoming a concrete fact. You don't _want_ to know whether or not Charles would embrace this, because you're _scared_ of being accepted."

The inarticulate noise of fury that escaped from his lips was animalistic in its sound, and Angel screamed in fright as the room began to rattle, the metal on her clothes allowing him to spin her effortlessly across the space between them, pinning her into place against the bookshelf, whilst the pens that had once been resting on the desk hovered dangerously close to her head, their once seemingly harmless points all of a sudden the most terrifying thing she had laid eyes upon, save for the enraged expression of the man holding her in place. Time froze as she stayed absolutely still, gasping frantically in pure terror, her hands grasping a hold of the shelves behind her as she sought to stabilize herself.

She did not turn away from him, never breaking eye contact, and praying fervently all the while that she would still be alive when reason returned to their steely depths.


	13. Chapter 13

**Quote: **"That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger."- **Friedrich Nietzche**

**/Chapter 12\**

**-Prep'n'Pray-**

Erik wasn't sure what he had really been expecting to achieve by blurting his deepest fears out in front of a girl he barely knew. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't really been thinking at all, not beyond the blatant need to tell _somebody_ what was running through his mind before he went insane. Somebody whose desertion would not pain him should it all prove too much, and someone who would not endanger themselves by standing at his side to join him in facing the danger his own mind had concocted.

He hadn't expected her to attempt to help him, to question him and prod him despite the risk of provoking his anger, because Charles had been the only one to ever do that, and Raven, on occasion. He had forgotten, on the other hand, that, for all her guilt and shame over what had happened with Shaw, Angel had always possessed a strong personality, right from the moment they had first met, and that hadn't changed in the slightest. Couple that with the loyal devotion she had recently formed for Charles, an apparent inevitability whenever the telepath was concerned, and he really shouldn't have been surprised by her earnest attempts to reconcile the pair of them.

He_ shouldn't_ have been surprised, and he _really _shouldn't have been enraged.

But he was, and the result of his maddened rage stared back at him through dark eyes wide with complete and utter terror, though, to give Angel her due, she had only screamed once, remaining unmoving beneath his iron grip, not even trying to fight her way free. They remained like that, locked in a staring match, for what seemed an eternity, the seconds stretching on forever, and then, just as suddenly as it had come, the wave of anger passed, and he stepped back, allowing the metal objects to drop back to the floor in a hail of furniture and stationary.

Even once he had released her, however, Angel did not move, clinging to the shelves for dear life, so that he began to suspect they were the only thing keeping her upright. Not knowing what else to do, he turned away, responding to the accusation that had led to his loss of control with a voice that sounded unutterably weary, even to his own ears.

"Everyone that has ever accepted me has inevitably been destroyed." It was a truth he had stumbled upon many, many years ago, and a fear that even now had not faded. To admit to that fear, however, only served to make it more real, and he wished, just briefly, that he _had_ chosen to speak to Charles about this, because the telepath had an uncanny knack for setting fears at ease. "I _refuse_ to let it happen here."

"Y...You don't know that it will." It took her a moment to get the quaver out of her voice, though her words still sounded breathless and terrified. "I don't know...I _can't_ give you an answer, Erik," she spread her hands apologetically, succeeding, by some miracle, in remaining upright, despite her trembling limbs. "All I can tell you is what I honestly think, and what I honestly think is that you should tell the Professor. He'll understand, Erik, he _will_, I'm sure of it."

Erik frowned, but it was a more a pensive gesture than one of anger this time, and he knew Angel had recognized the difference when he heard her breathe a sigh of relief. She must have realized by now that it could only have been desperation that led Erik to come here, to confide in _her_, of all people, though he didn't know if she understood why it had been easier for him to make his confessions to someone whose opinion did not really matter to him, especially not as he had only just come to that realization himself. He valued his friendship with Charles far more than he valued hers, and so he had not been afraid to lose her. Understanding his own motives at last was both comforting and discomforting, but he didn't have time to dwell on it.

The swinging booth completed its orbit with a soft hiss, startling them both as the sound penetrated the silence, so that they turned, simultaneously, to see who had infringed upon their privacy. The young man who walked into the room now with a confident swagger seemed unperturbed by the reactions he had garnered, flashing a grin at Angel, who seemed to recognize him, if nothing else, and then offering Erik a belated salute.

"Officer Wilson reporting for duty, Gen'ral. Am I to assume you are the elusive 'boss'?"

"Wade." Stepping forward, Angel shot Erik a quick, appraising glance, one that suggested she might appreciate it if he refrained from strangling the man, or stabbing him in the back with the two swords so conveniently strapped to his shoulders, before turning her attention fully onto the intruder. "What are you doing here?"

"Fear not, fair maiden." Reaching inside his leather vest, Wade drew forth a thick sheaf of crumpled pages, dropping them in a disorganized heap on the desk. "I come bearing gifts!"

"What is this?" Approaching the desk, Angel leant across to seize the scattered offering, her eyes scanning its contents swiftly, a soft gasp escaping from her lips, before she turned and abruptly shoved it at Erik. Frowning, the metal bender glanced down at the floor plan now resting in his hands, though what had been an expression of confusion swiftly morphed into one of disbelief.

"How the hell did you get these?"

The look he received in return was one of preening confidence, and the informant, for there was no doubting that was what this man was, gave an offhand wave. "What you do not know cannot hurt you, besides, a mercenary never gives away trade secrets. It's a code of honor, or greed, or patents, or something like that. They're useful, though, right?"

Useful, Erik decided inwardly, was an understatement. The crumpled, seemingly innocuous blue prints resting in his hands provided a complete floor plan for the facility he had seen from the outside the night before. There were detailed schematics for both floors, and even the location of the entrance to the copied Cerebro was present. Laying the blue prints aside he glanced over the other papers, unsurprised to find guard rosters, patrol plans, and every other conceivable piece of useful information he could have asked for. It was amazing, _too_ amazing, and it was with suspicion that he turned back to their guest, who was now rocking back and forth on his heels, hands folded casually behind his back.

"_Where_ did you get these?"

"I have an inside line into the CIA," blinking back at him innocently, the younger mutant responded evenly. "He's been trying to get me these plans for months. We knew they were building a new facility, but it took a while to find out where, and even longer to uncover all of this. They have that place locked down like a rabid dog. You'll be able to check it out in person now, right?"

"We still have to get close enough to use these plans," Erik reminded both himself and Angel, Wade merely looking confused, unaware of the telepathic complication in all of this, or the fact they had already gotten far closer than Erik might have wished. "We need to be mentally invisible to even get close."

"But you do intend to try," the female mutant concluded. "Erik, are you sure that's a good idea? You know what Emma said about the Network."

Erik considered this for a moment, weighing the knowledge they possessed of the tampering alongside his own doubts at this sudden good fortune, before giving a slow, thoughtful nod.

"Call her," he told Angel simply. "She'll soon be able to tell us whether or not this is genuine."

"Of course it's genuine!" Wade looked affronted. "Down with the unbelievers! Anyway, how is a telepath going to help? No offense to Miss Emma's incredible talents, of course, but last time I looked psionic powers didn't make it any easier to tell whether or not a piece of paper is telling the truth."

"It's not the paper that worries me," Erik corrected him dryly.

The look he received in response was greatly akin to that of a kicked puppy. "You're lack of faith is wounding."

"You'll live," Erik waved his comment away dismissively. "For now, though, sit down in the corner there and be quiet. If these plans _are_ genuine, we may just have the tools we need to destroy that carbon copy of Cerebro, and maybe even free the mutants being held inside that facility."

"Wow, guv'nor, any other miracles you'd like to pull off while you're at it?" Wade wondered aloud, before, upon receiving a death glare from Erik, instantly snapping a military style salute. "Shutting up, _sir_!"

It would have been a satisfying response, had Erik actually believed the silence would last.

**1st Class**

There had been a time when Moira was proud of her employment as a CIA agent.

It had not been an easy position to earn, not by a long shot, and she had fought tooth and nail to earn the respect of her superiors and peers alike. Much was expected of an agent in the government's employment, and she had striven to fulfill that role to the best of her ability, a lofty goal that had inevitably led her to uncovering the existence of mutants, and realizing, perhaps far later than she should have, just how corrupted the people she worked for had become. Cuba had been an eye opener, to be sure, and, as her eyes fell upon the young man lying motionless on the floor, she could not help but remember that pride, and compare it with the feelings of loathing she now nursed towards that same organization.

James' face was grim as he knelt at the side of the wounded mutant, his movements as gentle and practiced as they had been when he was tending to her, and she wondered, with a sudden pang of empathy, how it was he managed to endure seeing this day after day. The knowledge he was helping them surely paled in comparison to the horrors he had to witness without ever being able to intervene, and it was a tribute to his own rigid determination to be of use to mutant kind that he had not already baulked at the enormity of his task. For herself, it was all she could do to resist the strong desire to find the ones responsible for this and bring them to immediate justice, and, by all appearances, the heavily built mutant who had been standing guard prior to their arrival felt much the same, his fists flexing at his side, as though he would like to utilize the thick muscles in his arm for something fairly destructive.

Moira, who was still astonished they had made it this far without being caught, a factor she could only attribute to the swift brushes of contact Kayla had performed on every guard they passed, found herself blurting her thoughts aloud despite her resolve to remain silent.

"What happened to him?"

"Stryker happened." The stocky mutant's voice was a deep rumble in the silence, and the hatred in his voice was undisguised, a tangible presence in the room. Unlike Kayla, he made no effort to hide his anger at what had been done to his fellow, and it was a show of righteous fury Moira could easily sympathize with.

"He was being punished," Kayla elaborated, her words subdued, heavily dampened by worry. "He's a teleporter, Agent McTaggert, and Stryker keeps his powers under strict lock and key most of the time. But the other day John managed to get away, just briefly. I don't know where he tried to go, but it didn't work, and he ended up back here. Stryker took him away, most likely to hand over to Mr.S for a day or two, and he was like this when he was brought back."

"Stryker can stop him from teleporting?" Moira stared at her, aghast, but Kayla's response was entirely even.

"_He_ can't," she shook her head. "He uses Phoenix for that, to block most of our powers, actually."

"Phoenix?"

"Another mutant here in the facility," the other mutant rumbled. "Its part of her ability set, being able to stop us from using our powers. Not that one can really blame her, given the circumstances."

"Circumstances?" Something inside Moira's stomach twisted uncomfortably.

"Later," Kayla said curtly. "I'll show you, but later."

Moira could do little more than nod, still not quite believing she was standing here, inside a facility run by Stryker and filled with prisoners, without even having been noticed. She had only seen a few mutants on the way in, and most of them were younger than Kayla, shoved into locked rooms whose windows offered only an illusion of liberty. Kayla had already explained to her that only a very few of their number were allowed any freedom of movement, and then only because Stryker needed them to be able to carry out the missions he assigned to them. She hadn't specified what those missions might be, and Moira could not help but wonder why anyone he sent away from this place would ever choose to return. Now was not the time to be asking questions, however, so she lapsed back into silence, jumping slightly when their guard, Freddie, spoke again.

"Will he be all right?"

"He'll recover, if that's what you mean, though he may be groggy for a while when he wakes up. He _was_ drugged, and _then_ slammed around the head. Talk about overkill..." James was finishing off the last touches to the bandage he had used to bind the deep gash decorating the unconscious mutant's forehead, sitting back on his heels slightly as he studied the limp form with a frown. "God knows what else they did to him."

"_He_ could have done worse," Kayla murmured, putting emphasis on the singular pronoun as she twisted her hands together. "John wouldn't be the first mutant he's killed, and he won't be the last to suffer at his hands."

"We're going to put an end to it, Kayla." James had risen now, and there was a note of determination in his voice that made even Moira believe, though she knew full well how many obstacles lay between making that promise and actually fulfilling it.

"You're going to try," Kayla corrected him, with resignation that was painful to see. "It doesn't automatically follow that you will succeed." James opened his mouth to reply to that, but before he could utter a word the tactile telepath continued, "Thank you for your help, Doctor James. You had best stay here with him, Stryker will want an update on his condition when he returns. I'll take Agent McTaggert back to the practice."

"Of course." James knew better than to argue, and Moira wondered briefly whether that understanding had been won through experience. "Stryker will want the full diagnosis, and I've a mind to give it to him."

"It won't serve any purpose to antagonize him, Doctor," Kayla stated dully. "We're lucky he allows you to tend to us as it is."

"'Lucky' is not the word I would have used," James muttered, gesturing with his hand towards the doorway. "You two had best be off. Be careful, Kayla. Here, Frederick, give me a hand."

"Will do, Doc." The beefy mutant nodded, already moving into the room to help him maneuver their injured friend onto the bed.

"Come on." Kayla took Moira by the arm as she left what was essentially nothing more than a cell, dragging her away from the horrid sight, but not towards the exit. "There's something you should probably see."

Tagging along at her heels, keeping one ear out for any sign they were about to be discovered, Moira followed her to the exit at the end of the corridor, and up the stairs on the other side to the second story. Edging the door at the top open carefully, Kayla checked the hallway for any signs of life before stepping out, beckoning Moira to follow quickly, and then hastening towards the eastern end of the building, her movements jerky and rapid. It didn't take long for Moira to realize they were headed towards the site of the fake Cerebro, though, once they reached the door, the _locked_ door, Kayla hesitated, casting her a sidelong glance.

"I'd brace myself if I were you," she warned darkly. "This isn't a pretty sight."

Keying in the pass-code for the door, and Moira did not bother to ask how she had known it, Kayla pushed it open and gestured for her to enter, following closely on her heels and sealing the opening behind them. The room they now stood in was alike to the darkened observatory in an interrogation room, right down to the one way glass opposite the door, though Moira swiftly forgot about taking in the details of _this_ room as she found her gaze automatically drawn to that which lay on the other side of the glass, her stomach twisting in horror at what met her eyes.

It may have resembled Cerebro on the outside, but, internally, there was no comparison.

The chamber before her was flooded with a subdued glow that just barely illuminated the vast array of instruments that filled its interior, hundreds of separate pieces of equipment, all attached to a sickeningly small frame sprawled limply upon a metal table in the center of it all, strapped down firmly to its surface, even though the boneless way the child lay made such measures seemed pointless. The figure was that of a young girl, scarcely more than a year older than Ororo, the pale hue of her skin only amplified by the strange lighting, and her slight form dwarfed by the helmet that covered, not only her head, but right down to the bridge of her nose, hiding most of her features from sight.

Moira felt her breath catch in her throat, a strangled noise escaping through her lips, though she did not realize it was she who had made the sound until Kayla voice broke the silence.

"I warned you," she uttered quietly, and when Moira turned to glance at her there was something dark lingering in the depths of her eyes.

"What..." Her words came out hoarse and cracked, and she was forced to swallow, to steady herself before she could continue. "Who is she?"

"I don't know. No one does," Kayla shook her head, and there was guilt in her voice, guilt for not knowing the name of this child, Stryker's _weapon_. "Stryker found her almost four months ago, along with another child mutant. So far as I know they were both living on their own when he found them, runaways or orphans, I'm not sure which, and she's been his pet ever since. They call her Phoenix."

"She's been in here, like this, for _four months_?" Moira could not disguise her dismay, but Kayla was already signing in the negative, the words she spoke small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

"No," she corrected. "This machine is relatively new, and it took Stryker a while to configure it just how he wanted. Phoenix worked without it before then."

"She's a...telepath?"

"And a strong one," Kayla nodded. "She was a spirited child when they brought her here, a fighter, from what little I saw of her. Unlike most of us, Stryker had no leverage with her, and she fought him every step of the way. Or, as much as anyone under his control can."

"How could he possibly control a telepath?" Moira frowned at the mutant beside her, her thoughts flying instantly to Charles. "I understand how he could with you, all he would need to do is avoid your touch, but a full blown telepath?"

"He has a serum," Kayla told her grimly, and there was fear in her gaze now. Raw, unconcealed fear that came from her very core. This fear was ingrained, and Moira's heart twisted as her mind comprehended what must have occurred to put it there. "It suppresses the mutant gene, and makes whomever you inject with it pliable to orders. I'm not sure how long it lasts, it seems to vary from mutant to mutant, but Stryker has made full use of it ever since it was developed. For some, losing their powers is but a small matter, but for those with stronger gifts, particularly those of the mind, it is a great loss. Those gifts don't have to be telepathy, either, any extraordinary senses, once stolen from us, can cause mutants to experience severe withdrawal symptoms. Those with physical mutations are not so terribly affected, but, as for the rest of us..."

"And Stryker uses this serum on the mutants he has here? On this girl?" Moira found her eyes drawn back to the fragile form lying so still upon the table, unable to turn away, much though she wished she had never seen this.

"Yes. Stryker used it to control her at first, and then when he had need of her powers and therefore had to cease using the serum, he simply threatened the boy she was caught with's life. Stryker was able to keep her in line quite easily."

"She couldn't just attack his mind?" There was a piece missing, something that didn't quite add up here, and Moira knew exactly what question to ask to get the answer she needed.

"No one in this facility can use their powers on Stryker," Kayla expression darkened further, and there was desperation in her voice now. "He's...I guess you could say he's 'vaccinated' himself to be impervious to the mutant gene. It was a rush job, so I don't know how good it is, but it seems to have worked so far. The Russians helped develop it, so far as I know, apparently someone over there has had some experience with mutants. I've tried using my touch on him, but it just rolled off like he wasn't even there."

"I have to get out of here." Moira tried to keep the panic out of her voice, though she had serious doubts about her success on that count. "I have to get back to my friends. If they try to come back..."

"The Doctor has already made arrangements for you're departure on a helicopter that will bring in supplies," Kayla told her simply, studying Moira closely with an expression the former CIA agent couldn't quite name. "I'm to help 'convince' the pilot you are not even there."

"Isn't that a risk for you?" Moira had seen what happened to the mutants here when they took risks, and she had no desire to be the cause of Kayla receiving the same punishment as the teleporter.

"Everything we do here is a risk, Agent McTaggert." The resignation in that statement did not belong in the voice of someone so young, and Moira tried not to consider what had forced this maturity, this acceptance of what now shaped this young woman's world. She was scarcely an adult, and had been here for less than a year, and yet it had already taken its toll. "Doctor James has been trying to free us all ever since he came here. We have plans, you know, but whilst Phoenix remains here inside this machine we don't stand a chance. She nullifies all our powers with her mind the moment we set foot outside Stryker's domain without permission, and she would do worse if she ever learned of what we are planning."

"How can she not know of it?" Moira frowned. "Can't she read your thoughts?"

"It used to be a great danger to us that she would," Kayla confessed quietly. "But not anymore. Her powers are focussed elsewhere for the most part, and they only return here when Stryker wants them to. That machine has stolen most of her free will from her, she's nothing more than a power source, the controls are in the hands of others."

"She's the one trying to destroy us." The realization came far later than it should have, and Moira blamed the enormity of all she was trying to absorb for that misstep. She should have made the conclusion the moment she was shown this room, but, despite the delay, she _had_ stumbled upon the truth, for Kayla was already offering her confirmation.

"Yes," the tactile mutant agreed softly. "Stryker was wary of your friends, far too wary to try a frontal assault. He spent a great deal of time discovering the true identity of those who had once been involved with Division X, and once he had found a name he could trace he sent in one of his best agents to infiltrate your ranks. That's how he retrieved the plans for this device, I think."

"Stryker knows where we are?" Moira reeled beneath the force of that blow, her heart hammering in her chest in fear for her allies, her _friends_. Kayla was gazing at her with sympathy now, but her answer offered no comfort.

"He's known for a long time, Agent McTaggert, he has merely chosen to fight you in a way that ensures he will have victory without sacrificing the lives of his men."

"What is she _doing _to us?"

"Sowing the seeds of discord," Kayla replied calmly. "Ensuring your ranks are divided. With two telepaths among you, she daren't make a direct move on any mind within their range, but Phoenix has been forced to learn to control her power swiftly in such a way as to best serve Stryker, and subtly destroying the minds of those who would resist him without giving rise to suspicion is a task she has carried out before. Yours is not the first resistance to fall before her. Stryker likes to test his weapons before he goes for the kill."

"Cha...The others will realize what is going on," Moira argued almost wildly, fighting to stamp down on the terror gripping her in its relentless talons. "Stryker won't win."

"I'm not so sure," Kayla disagreed, her voice soft, but weighted. "I only know of this because John overheard Stryker's plans. I think that's what he was doing when he tried to teleport out of here. He was trying to warn you, but he obviously failed."

"There must be some way to stop this," Moira declared, turning to the mutant at her side, unable to disguise the near pleading note in her voice. "Can't we shut the machine down somehow?"

"Not without killing her," Kayla nodded towards the girl trapped inside the nightmare replica. "Whilst she remains attached to it, we can't shut it off, or destroy it."

"Then we'll just have to get her out," Moira determined, her fear replaced by the adrenaline now coursing through her veins, the complete and utter _need_ to stop this from happening. "Is there a way in?"

"If we go in there, Stryker will know," Kayla baulked. "Do you have any idea how many mutants he would harm as punishment for that? I've never had to suffer through his treatment, Agent McTaggert, but I _am_ responsible for these mutants, I'm the closest thing to a leader they have, and every time he takes one of them away..." she broke off, sucking in a sharp breath as she sought to compose herself again. "I'm sorry, but I refuse to lay their lives on the line. Free us, free _them_, and I will willingly help you, but not until they are safely out of harms way."

"By then it will be too late."

Moira understood her reservations, her hesitation, because those motives were the same reasons that were driving her to act _now_, before Stryker's actions became irreversible. Kayla, however, merely stared at her sadly, the regret in her voice entirely sincere, even as she dealt what seemed to Moira to be a fatal blow.

"I'm sorry, Agent McTaggert, but it already _is_."


	14. Chapter 14

**Quote: **"There are more ways than one to skin a cat,"-**Seba Smith**

**/Chapter 13\**

**-Illusions and Confusion-**

Cerebro was a machine that offered answers.

Not always straightforward answers, or even answers that might make enough sense to help them, but its use never came without some reward, whether it be what they were looking for or not. Its very existence had been paramount to the success of the Institution's goal of rounding up what mutants they could find, and Charles was under no illusions what they had accomplished so far would have been possible without it. It was a valuable tool, and they had come to rely on it, perhaps even more than they should.

The broadcast chamber was empty when he entered it, making a point of locking the door behind him, before taking a seat on the edge of the control panel, eyeing the helmet he had worn more times than he could count in the months since its reconstruction with a wary gaze. Hank had adjusted the machine to allow it to function without his input, tuning it to react to Charles' presence, rather than the touch of the scientist's hands on the controls. Though, given the fact the beast mutant insisted on being present regardless of whether or not he was needed, it had seemed a rather pointless addition.

Until now.

It wasn't often that Charles used his powers to deliberately deceive those he named his friends and allies. His rules, his morals, and his general sense of decency dictated he should never use his gifts _against_ those he cared for. This time, however, he really hadn't had much of an option but to utilize his illusions to misguide them, because there was no way any of them would have allowed this, even if he could have convinced them it was as necessary as he deemed it to be.

Their trip to the facility in Canada _had _yielded results, despite the loss that it had incurred, and they could hardly ignore what they had discovered. Something was going on within that place, something too important to safely dismiss. Their first attempt to penetrate had failed, because of him, because he had allowed his defenses to drop, but he knew what he was fighting against now, knew the presence responsible far better than he had before, and he was relying on that to make all the difference he needed.

Cerebro was a machine that offered answers, and answers were what they desperately needed right now. He knew it was a risk, he knew it might even be borderline reckless, but their options were limited, and they had to do _something_. He could still feel the reverberating echoes of the powerful emotions that had assaulted him on the cliff-top, emotions that were wild, unrestrained, and uncontrolled. Their enemy was powerful, true, but untrained, and that was an advantage he hoped to exploit.

That is, if he could ever find the courage to actually do as he had intended.

He was not afraid of confronting this menace a fourth time, and fear was not what held him back. This hesitation sprung instead from his guilt at having gone behind his sister's back, as well as everyone else he had fooled in order to gain access to this place. If Hank had known he was here, if _any_ of them had...He shook his head, deciding not to traverse that particular road again. He was here now, and this _was_ necessary, it was just something that had to be done.

Making his decision, he rose, walking across the room without hesitation and sliding the helmet smoothly onto his head.

**1st Class**

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?"

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Raven twisted her face slightly into a scowl, trying to accustom herself to the sight of that expression on the image staring back at her. The plan she was currently in the process of following had been the idea of the two boys, something she wasn't sure was all that reassuring. Whilst Hank could usually be depended on for some degree of sensibility, Sean was normally a force of insanity to be reckoned with, and she wasn't at all convinced this was the right way to go about rooting out a potential spy.

"You look perfect, sugar."

It was impossible to tell whether the female telepath was sincere or not, not when her face never changed and those blue eyes remained cool throughout. Emma Frost was a woman who was nearly impossible to read, but she wasn't a fool, and she had _agreed_ with this idea. Raven hoped that meant it was foolproof, not that she was going to be made a fool _of_.

"Shouldn't we tell the Professor what we're doing?" Hank was frowning, his arms folded across his ample chest as he studied both her and her reflection. He had agreed to this scheme, unable to deny the necessity of discovering whether or not any one of their students had been responsible for stealing Cerebro's plans, but, like all of them, he didn't feel entirely comfortable doing anything without Charles' approval. Raven saw Emma shift her weight, prepared to respond, and hurried to inject her own opinion before the telepath could.

"Charles has enough to worry about right now."

"We'll have to make sure Storm stays out of sight." Accepting that, Hank moved on to the next problem facing them. "Do you really think you can pull off a convincing eleven year old?"

"I've been doing this for _years_," Raven snorted dismissively at his doubts about her prowess. "If I wasn't convincing, Hank, I wouldn't be alive right now."

Hank winced at that, and Raven instantly regretted the words, knowing mentions of death were hardly what any of them needed right now. Emma's revelation had provided a brief and welcome distraction from the shadow hanging over them all, giving them something upon which to focus, a task to draw their minds away from their grieving, and she had just undone all of that with a few careless words. Scowling at herself more fiercely in the mirror, Raven jumped as Emma gave a sudden start, a choked sound emerging from her lips.

"Emma?" Turning to the female telepath, Hank started forward in concern. "Emma, are you all right?"

"Quiet!"

The order was sharp, the brisk, dismissive wave of one hand freezing the beast mutant in place as the female telepath straightened, her arm dropping back to her side as her gaze went distant. The other three mutants waited in breathless silence, exchanging uncertain glances, but not daring to utter a sound whilst Emma was so wholly focussed elsewhere. Several minutes passed in this manner, before clarity returned to the telepath's eyes, a half smile curving her lips into a small arc.

"I wouldn't worry about not telling your Professor," she informed them calmly. "He has other things on his mind right now, and would much rather you were otherwise employed."

"You spoke to Charles?" Raven frowned, sensing something not quite right here, but Emma simply shrugged.

"You could say that, sugar. In any case, you'll have to continue this little charade of yours without me. I am needed elsewhere."

"How do you know that?" Sean demanded, but Emma simply leveled him with a look, before swinging elegantly on her heel and departing from the room.

Frowning after the telepath, Raven morphed back into her natural form, turning to Hank as she said, "I have a bad feeling."

"Me too," the beast mutant confessed immediately. "I think we should find the Professor."

"He's with Storm in the study. We checked before Raven decided to play dress up," Sean reminded them both, and Raven felt a little of the fear that had gripped her heart drain away, only to return with redoubled force when the door to the room opened and the young girl in question poked her head inside.

"Ororo!" Hank could not conceal his surprise, though, having uttered her name aloud, he softened his tone and continued, "Where's the Professor?"

"I don't know." Storm's expression was one of confusion, and Raven felt her heart sink dramatically, the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach only growing worse. "I thought he was with you."

Sean groaned aloud, slapping a hand against his face, and Hank shifted uneasily, choosing to look to Raven for guidance on how to deal with this. She would have much rather _he_ took charge, but even Ororo was looking at her now, and she wasn't given much of a choice.

"Have you checked the library and the study?" Storm merely nodded, as expected, and Raven wracked her mind for any one of her brother's other refuges. She was only half way through crossing off the list of possibilities in her mind when Hank stiffened abruptly, going ramrod straight beside her, and drawing the attention of all the others in the room.

"Hank?" Sean prompted. "Do you know something we don't?"

"Its just..." The beast mutant shook himself, turning to Raven with eyes that barely concealed his anxiety. "Emma said the Professor was doing something he didn't want us present for, and the only thing I can think of that would make him send us _and_ Storm away is..."

"Cerebro!"

Raven didn't wait to learn whether or not that was what he had truly had in mind, ignoring Sean's confusion, Ororo's bewildered and fearful expression, and even Hank's half muted attempt to quell her reaction so as to not frighten the young girl. Ignoring everything but the terrifying revelation burning its way through her mind, she turned and _bolted_ from the room, taking the steps outside three at a time, and whirling in the direction of the basement. Fear lent her speed, and she reached the metal bound hallways long before the others, hurling her way down the corridor to pause before the door at the end, realizing only when it didn't open to grant her admission what, exactly, her brother had done.

The door was locked, and she couldn't get in.

Charles was on his own.

**1st Class**

"We're here, sugar, what do you need?"

Emma swept into the room with all her customary grace, Azazel following close on her heels, but there was something in her tone that made Erik glance at her sharply, trying to discern a reason for the sudden lack of arrogance in her voice. He had not spoken to the female telepath since her accusation in the mansion, and he had been expecting that same frigid hostility from her now, but the eyes that met his own were open and ready, showing perhaps more emotion than he had ever seen in them. Something was...off here, but he didn't have the time to figure out what was going on inside her head right now, waving a hand instead at the fidgeting figure who had been exiled to the corner.

"Read his mind, and tell me if what he's saying is true."

Nodding briskly, Emma turned to Wade, her eyes narrowing in concentration as her body grew still. Wade, for his part, merely folded his arms and leant back against the wall, the confident grin never leaving his face. After a few minutes, Emma's stare was broken by a sharp frown, and, taking Erik's arm, she led him to the other side of the room, well out of earshot.

"I detect no lie in his thoughts," she told him quietly. "But his mind is so erratic it is impossible to be sure."

"You're saying he's insane?" Erik threw the swordsman a dubious glance, but Emma shook her head.

"No, not insane," she disagreed. "But his mind is never still. Most people will focus on only one line of thought for a few minutes at a time, he leaps from random points with seemingly no connection at all. It makes him incredibly hard to read."

"But he's telling the truth?" Erik insisted, not particularly interested in the finer details, not when time was of the essence. If what Wade had told them was true, they had only a small window of opportunity to strike at the facility, only this one chance to destroy Cerebro's carbon copy, and every moment wasted with speculation meant that window closed a little more.

She hesitated before replying, a small chink in the armor she constantly wore, and Erik found himself watching her closely, seeking a reason for this odd behavior. In the six months she had been with them, Emma Frost had never radiated anything less than complete and utter certainty, her moods never changing, always icy cold, arrogant, and out to annoy every living being within her radius. That pattern had been broken with the almost defensive anger she had exhibited following their expedition to Canada, and again now, in the uncertainty showing despite her best efforts to hide it.

"Emma?" he prompted at last, when she did not reply, earning himself a pensive scowl in response.

"If I tell you he is speaking the truth, you are going to try and infiltrate that facility, aren't you?"

"We're not likely to get another opportunity like this one."

"What opportunity?" she hissed, taking a step closer, so that their faces were mere inches apart. "Have you forgotten what happened the last time we approached that place? We weren't even inside it, Erik, and we were nearly destroyed regardless. That helmet?" She waved a hand at the smooth object sitting on the office desk, retrieved by Azazel a few minutes before the teleporter was sent for Emma. "It may protect your mind, but if the same force as nearly killed us last time is released again it won't be of any aid to you."

One of the things that had made Emma's presence in the Institution tolerable was that she had never questioned an order, and she had just lost that advantage. Erik was beginning to think all those around him were losing their minds, first Charles, then Angel, and now Emma. None of them had acted as he had expected, and it was all he could do to stop his exasperation from finding the perfect release in anger.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Do you, Erik?" The challenge was familiar, an aspect of her personality he knew all too well, and he couldn't help but feel relief upon recognizing it. "Do you really? Or are you making the same mistake of walking into a situation blind?"

Baring his teeth in a poor resemblance of a smile, Erik replied calmly, "I thought that was what I always did."

"And what has it brought you?" she demanded, not at all deterred. "I am not going to die because you insisted on running needlessly into the line of fire!"

"Then stay behind!" he snapped, long past the end of his patience. They needed to move, and they needed to move _now_. There was a sense of urgency lingering in his mind, an instinct that told him this must be done and done swiftly. Emma was slowing them down unnecessarily, and he had no more tolerance for her needless delays. "I'm not asking you to come with us, all I need to know is if he's telling the truth," he gestured somewhat wildly at Wade. "Can you do that, or is it beyond your capabilities, _Miss_ Frost?"

The expression on her face froze over immediately, and her eyes, when they rose to meet his own, were shards of blue ice. The return of that underlying hostility was what he had been aiming for all along, a return to footing he was used to, but seeing it there now gave him no sense of satisfaction. If anything, he felt guilty for rejecting the first show of genuine comradeship the female telepath had exhibited, the first show of _emotion_, but it was too late to take back what had been said now, and he doubted Emma would have accepted an apology even if he had been willing to make one.

"He's telling the truth," she answered him curtly, and loudly enough for the rest of the room to hear. Wade made no reaction to that statement, but Azazel and Angel exchanged an uneasy glance that Erik strongly suspected was not caused by the spoken words. The pair of them had been watching the argument between himself and Emma closely, and, even if they had not heard a word, they had probably been able to garner much of the whole from his expression alone. What they would make of it, however, was not his concern, and he focussed instead on Emma's next statement. "And, as for whether or not I'll accompany you, _that_ was never in doubt. You can't pull this off without a telepath, and since you've already managed to severe your ties with one, you're going to have to satisfy yourself with me."

The blow struck as deeply as she had meant it to, robbing Erik of any means of response, and giving the female telepath the opportunity to turn on her heel and strut away from him, taking up a position between Angel and Azazel, and pinning him with a look of such frosted hostility they might as well have been enemies. And perhaps they were now, he certainly didn't seem to be making many friends of late. If anything, he was _losing_ them.

Shoving that thought to the back of his mind for the time being, Erik turned his attention instead to the informant still lounging in the corner, showing he possessed at least a little intelligence by not breaking the silence Erik had enforced with some rather inventive threats.

"You're sure this chopper is the only way in?"

"Positive," nodding jerkily, Wade waved a hand towards the papers still resting on the desk. "My contact said the place is designed to keep mutants out, teleporters included. Either you take the helicopter flight in tonight, or you wait until the next time the bossman decides he needs something and sends for it, though who knows how long that will be."

"Emma and I will go in alone, then," Erik decided, ignoring the slight movement of protest Angel made, which was quelled almost instantly by Emma. "Azazel will transport us to the take off point, and then return here for further orders. If we are able to disable whatever is blocking you and we need an evacuation, Emma will contact Angel through their link."

"Understood, comrade," Azazel bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"Angel." Turning next to the winged mutant, Erik continued, "If you don't hear from us within twelve hours, sound the evacuation signal, and make sure no ones tries to come after us. In fact, I don't want you telling anyone where we've gone. That knowledge does not leave this room."

"Not even the Professor?" Angel looked startled, but was not so surprised as to blurt Charles' real name out before a potential leak, or maybe it was just because that was what they _all_ called him.

"_Especially_ not him," Erik responded firmly, finding her gaze and holding it, reading the doubt lingering there. "We don't need anyone mounting a rescue party. First priority must go to keeping the School safe."

"Of course," Angel still looked skeptical, but she knew better than to argue with him on this matter, their recent conversation doubtlessly as fresh in her mind as it was in his. "I'll make sure it's all taken care of."

"Good," he gave her a brief nod of gratitude, before letting his gaze fall on Wade, his expression hardening as he stared at the informant, though the swordsman never once blinked an eye. "And you," he began calmly. "If I find out you've been lying, or leading us into a trap, you'd better hope you're well beyond my reach, or I'll show you just how painful impaling can be."

"No worries, boss." Unconcerned, Wade waved a gloved hand. "I hear Timbuktu is real nice this time of the year."

**1st Class**

Charles had never extended himself so far beyond his immediate surroundings before. He had always been aware of the possibility, his range was fairly impressive even without Cerebro's aid, but he had never been quite bold enough to allow his focus to depart completely from his physical environment. That touch was a grounding force, a beacon for when he needed to wind his powers back in and return his mind to its usual cage, but he had abandoned that marker now, drifting beyond his body, beyond the room that held Cerebro, beyond the Xavier Estate and those it held, with no guarantee he would ever be able to find his way back.

Raven was going to kill him when she found out.

But, the truth was, it had been _necessary_ for him to stretch beyond the usual leash he kept on his powers, for he had needed all his focus to be in one place, not split in half as it usually was. He had needed every ounce of power his mind held for this confrontation, and the risk had brought the gain he had gambled upon, even as his mind drew the conclusion he was no longer on a physical plain, but an astral one, formed by the mind of the young girl standing before him now.

He had found what he sought at last, but his goal still remained obscured, not by physical barriers this time, but by white hair, tanned skin, and familiar dark eyes that held the thoughts and emotions of a stranger.

"You're not Ororo," he spoke gently, maintaining a non threatening stance, and ensuring his powers only brushed against her mind, not penetrating, because he wasn't sure he could handle whatever reaction such an act might invoke. "Do you not trust me enough to show me your face?"

"Nobody sees my face anymore." The face was Storm's, the voice was not, and the difference was great enough to allow him to relax a little. His supposition that the one wielding all this power was not disciplined in its use was being proven correct, and that lack of control put them on more even footing, her lack of training preventing her from going where his morals denied he could follow. "You don't need to either."

"Not even if it would help you?" She was, he knew, the key to everything. The CIA's weapon, his own nemesis, and, at the same time, a child against whom fate had sent its cruelest emissaries. The hand dealt to this mutant girl had not been fair, Charles simply hoped he would be given the chance to show her a better one.

"You don't understand," she answered him listlessly, dark eyes lacking the spark of the mutant whose appearance she had adopted. "You think you can fix this, that you can put me back together, but you can't. I fought Mr. S and I lost." He received an image with that name, and instant recognition came with it. _William_ _Stryker Junior, I might have known_. _Like father like son, it would seem._ "I don't even know where the pieces of me are anymore." There were tears running down her cheeks now, and fear had twisted her visage into an expression of pain and grief. "The machine has taken everything from me!" she sobbed hysterically. "Turn it off. Turn if off. _Turn if off_!"

Around him, the world warped and wavered in response to its owner's distress, and Charles hastened to intervene, lest this entire place vanish, and with it his last chance to stop this from going any further.

"Phoenix! Phoenix, you _have_ to calm your mind. I want to help you, I _will_ help you, but I need you to be calm."

"That's not my name!" Her eyes blazed, flashing from dark brown to burning chestnut, and he staggered back, the mental blow sending him reeling as surely as a physical one would have done in the real world. "It's not my name," she repeated softly. "Not my name."

"Then what is your name?" he coaxed gently, not trying to close the distance between them. She merely stared at him, however, and he realized belatedly that white hair had turned to auburn, falling past her shoulders, though the face that stared back at him with haunted eyes was still Ororo's.

"I don't remember."

His heart twisted painfully in response to the sheer hopelessness in those words, and alongside that pain came anger, a wave of it washing over his mind with more force than he had ever experienced before. _Stryker_ had done this, to a _child_, and for the first time since he had met Erik Charles found himself tempted to agree with the metal bender's compulsive desire to destroy those who threatened them, who treated children like this girl as nothing more than a means to an end. But, even though the temptation was there, Charles knew better than to let it carry him away.

They need not become the same breed of monsters as their oppressors.

"Why do you care?" Her voice, quiet and subdued, broke through his inner struggled, and he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

"Because there is no reason I shouldn't."

"There is no reason you _should_," she argued back. "You shouldn't even be here. I can feel the minds of your friends, they're all so scared, _because_ you are here."

"Should they be scared?" he queried tentatively. "Am I in danger?"

"I don't want to hurt you," she shook her head vehemently, hysteria worming its way back into her voice. "But that doesn't mean I won't. I can't control it most of the time. The machine tells me what to do, and I...I have to do it. If I don't, they'll hurt Remy."

_Remy_. And slowly, ever so slowly, it all began to fall into place. The missing pieces Charles had instinctively known were there, and yet hadn't been able to find. So _this_ was how Stryker controlled his telepath, by threatening the life of a boy whose mutant gift had only just emerged. Good God, the man was another Shaw!

"Phoenix." She flinched upon hearing the name, but he didn't have another to call her. "Phoenix, listen to me. I can help you, I _want_ to help you, but I need you to listen to me very carefully. We can find Remy, we can bring him to safety, but not unless you help us. I need you to fight this, to fight Stryker."

"You can't help me." She stared at him dully, and Charles fought against the waves of despair battering against his mental shields to find some vestige of hope within her.

"We can. We just..."

"You can't help me," she repeated. "Because to save me, you have to save yourselves."

"What do you mean?" Dread had formed now, a cold mass of swirling apprehension, that was soon to prove itself well justified.

"Mr. S has plans for you, for all of you," she clarified simply, her tone matter of fact. "I tried to warn you off, I even let Wraith escape long enough to try and bring you warning, but the machine was too strong, and I couldn't fight it for long enough."

"What is it, Phoenix?" he asked softly, keeping all signs of fear from his voice, though it was thrumming wildly inside his mind. "Why did you try to warn us?"

"I'll show you."

Charles blinked as his surroundings melted away, the mist he had been standing in a moment before gone, replaced by what was soon to become his worst nightmare.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N. **Well, I made it on time this week, though I make no promises as to spelling/grammer. I don't normally type a chapter out and post it on the same day, but I doubt I'll have much time later on in the week, so I just did the best revision I could. On another note, I think this is the first time I've written something from Emma's point of view. It was a new challenge, and one I hope I haven't entirely flunked, but feel free to tell me if I have. :-D

**Quote: **"May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won't."- **George Patton**

**/Chapter 14\**

**-Different Battles, Same War-**

The mansion was devoid of noise. Empty, hollow, _lifeless_, quiet in a way that was eery, not comforting. She had never noticed before how unsettling the largeness of its interior was, how the hallways seemed to stretch on forever in either direction, dwindling into the distance, fading into the shadows of the unknown. Standing in the very center of one such corridor now, she swallowed sharply, biting back the fear that had arisen, unbidden within her chest, and cautiously testing the silence by calling the name that would always come first to her lips.

"Charles?"

Her voice echoed back at her, repeated a hundred times over, but there was no other response to her call, not even a whisper. Worried in earnest now, she began to pace down the passage, moving as quickly as she could, and feeling an inordinately strong sense of relief when it did not stretch on indeterminately, but instead halted exactly where it should, giving way to the stairs that would take her down to the first floor. Reassured by that small piece of normality, she descended the steps at a more regular place, running one hand down the comfortingly solid banister, and clutching her other to her chest, feeling, somehow, that she should not be straining it, though she could not recall why no matter how hard she tried.

Turning at the foot of the steps, she hastened towards the next flight that would take her to the basement, the one place where her call would not have been heard by any of the house's occupants. For all of them to be down there at once was not very likely, but _somebody_ was always in the house, and, even if everyone else was outside in the gardens, she would have a little company until they returned.

She had only made it a few steps, however, when the library door, standing slightly ajar, caught her attention, and she wavered off course, treading cautiously towards the opening, and pushing the door open the rest of the way as slowly as she could manage, sensing, though she could not have said how or why, that danger lurked beyond its sturdy, wooden surface. It swung open without a sound, and she blinked in surprise as she beheld the chaos before her.

The room looked as though one of Riptide's twisters had passed through it, books strewn at random all across the floor, some half hanging off the shelves, and only a very few remaining in place. Some of the newer shelves, those that were not attached to the wall, had toppled over completely, their contents spilling out across the floor to join the shards of glass that were all that remained of the windows, shattered inwards. Stretched across the top of all this, however, were several limp forms, dressed in dark clothes, wearing faces she did not recognize, and wielding weapons she knew all too well.

"Moira?"

Startled out of her shock by the soft call, Moira turned swiftly, her eyes alighting upon its source almost immediately. Charles was slumped against the shelves, his legs stretched out before him, and his hands resting on his thighs. His eyes, however, were the same bright blue as always, and currently fixated on her face with an expression of such shocked bewilderment it would have been amusing under any other circumstances.

"Charles." Creeping forward across the liberally bestrewn floor, she crouched down beside him, not quite daring to touch him for fear he would evaporate beneath her fingers. "Are you all right?"

"This isn't real, Moira." He sounded exhausted, and his face was pale enough it would have given the white sheets adorning her bed upstairs a run for their money, but there was no sign of bodily harm, so she accepted his reassurance, watching as his gaze traveled wearily over the chaos before them. "None of it is real."

"This is...an illusion?" Puzzled, she glanced at her surroundings, rapping a hand gently against the wooden panelling of the wall, its solidness beyond question.

"Yes, well, it wouldn't be much of an illusion if it wasn't, would it?"

"Are you reading my mind, or was I just that obvious?"

"I don't have much of a choice at the moment, I'm afraid," he grimaced slightly. "Its hard enough keeping myself apart from the illusion, without worry about reigning in my telepathy as well."

"But this _is_ an illusion?"

"I do not believe it is so much an illusion as an intention," Charles answered her quietly. "I believe we are being shown our enemy's future plans."

"And why would they show us what they plan to do?" It didn't make any sense, but the look Charles gave her told her she should have understood without requiring an explanation.

"We discussed this, Moira," he reminded her simply. "People who are forced into something unwillingly tend to find ways around obstacles."

"The telepath," she realized, unable to quite hide her sense of wonder. After what she had seen, for that girl to still be able to reach them...

"The telepath," Charles confirmed with a brisk nod. "She's trying to help us, Moira, even after everything Stryker has put her through..."

"You know about Stryker, then?" It was a like a door had been opened somewhere inside her mind, allowing the knowledge of what was real and what was not to flow to the fore, and with that knowledge came her most recent memories, including the last image of Charles that had imprinted itself so firmly upon her mind.

"She showed me," he nodded vaguely, his eyes drifting listlessly over the carnage. "She showed me a lot of things. What Stryker is planning, Moira, it's..."

"It's what, Charles?" she pressed when he trailed off.

"Unimaginable..." His gaze had snapped back to her now, and she had only a moment to wonder at the sudden intensity in the blue depths before he had reached out with both arms to pull her into an tight embrace that would have squeezed all the breath out of her lungs had this been anything but an illusion.

"C-Charles?" Startled, she could not quite keep the stutter out of her voice.

"We thought you were dead." He did not relax his hold in the slightest, and understanding now the reasons behind his actions, Moira tentatively, and somewhat more gently, returned the gesture. "Dear God, Moira, I thought...we thought...You're not part of this illusion, are you?"

The cause of that bewilderment in his expression moments before was clear to her now, as was the fear lingering in that last question. She had thought the reason no one had come after her was because Erik had not allowed it, but now she understood, with almost painful clarity, that no one had come because they hadn't believed there was anything _to_ come _for_.

"I'm _not_ an illusion," she stated firmly, pushing back far enough so that she could meet him eye to eye. "I promise, Charles. I didn't die."

"But where are you?" His eyes narrowed suddenly. "Stryker hasn't..."

"I'm not a prisoner," she shook her head quickly, eager to disperse that naked fear lingering in the blue depths of his intent gaze. "Well, not exactly. Stryker doesn't even know I'm here. I was rescued by someone else, a sympathizer."

"A friend?" Charles hazarded, and Moira considered the question carefully, before giving a slow nod.

"I think so. He seems to genuinely care about the mutants in this facility, and, from what little I've seen, they desperately need him. What Stryker is doing...It's horrible, Charles."

"I can well believe it," he nodded wearily, lifting a hand to run it through his hair. "I've seen what his intentions are, and they are not pretty. We need to rescue that telepath, and we need to do it now."

"It's not that simple, Charles," Moira said quickly, hesitating as she pondered on how to explain this, before realizing the solution was sitting right before her. "Can you read my mind?"

"If you want me to." Lifting a hand to his temple, though Moira doubted the gesture was necessary in this world of illusions, Charles closed his eyes briefly, though they snapped open again almost immediately. "_That's_ Cerebro?"

"Stryker's Cerebro," Moira nodded grimly. "It won't be easy to get her out of that."

"No, it won't," he agreed succinctly, face twisted into a pensive frown, and she could practically see the plans forming inside his mind. A moment later, however, that look of concentration shattered into one of panic as he half started towards his feet. "Oh no."

"Charles?" Worried, she rose with him, seizing a hold of his arm when he swayed. "Charles? What is it?"

"Erik..." he whispered, lifting haunted eyes to meet her own, and revealing the complete and utter terror rippling through his mind. "He's walking into a trap, Moira. _Stryker's_ trap."

"Can you warn him?" Understanding the reason for that fear now, Moira jumped to the only possible retaliation.

"He's wearing the helmet," Charles shook his head, and there was a frantic note to his voice. "It's happening, Moira, it's happening just like she showed me it would."

"You mean..." Moira could not voice her thoughts, but Charles answered them anyway.

"Yes," he said simply. "The events happening now lead to this," he waved a hand at their surroundings. "And there's nothing we can do to stop it."

Moira opened her mouth to argue, to say there _must_ be _something_ they could do, but before she had a chance to so much as formulate the words Charles had simply vanished, leaving her fingers to close about empty air, a moment before her surroundings exploded into nothingness.

**1st Class**

Emma Frost was not a woman prone to emotion.

Her icy outer shell, once only a physical apparition, had found itself a twin in the impenetrable wall need erected around her heart, melding her into the untouchable, and equally dangerous, beauty she was today. If true kindness had ever been extended towards her, she could not remember it, and her powers had made it impossible for her to ever believe in the false compassion Shaw had first tried to entreat her with. That his _falsity _was the most genuine show of warmth directed at her person she could readily recollect was enough to explain more about her personality than any other aspect of her life, though most, she suspected, would have been surprised to learn she had never resented the lie the older mutant tried to instill upon her mind.

Her training beneath his watchful eye had been far from easy, and she had always been more likely to receive a harsh blow than praise for her efforts, her personality, even then, rigid and antagonistic, because if the world was going to hate her she was going to give them a better reason than just the fact she was _different_. But, for all the cruelty she knew dwelt within him, she had never hated Shaw with the same vicious intent as Erik, quite the opposite, in fact, though that small truth was wisely confined to the private corners of her own mind.

She doubted Erik would be able to understand what a childhood spent hiding what you were was like. The magnetic mutant had lived his own tragedy, she did not deny that, but he had never had to truly _hide_. She had seen his memories, a fact she was not ashamed to admit to, even those he scarcely remembered himself, realizing, as he had not, the very small, yet inestimably large, concession his parents had made for him. Because they had _known_ what he was, and they had accepted him and loved him for it all the same. He had never had to _hide_ his powers from them, and when they were gone, and he was left to Shaw's mercy, hiding was the furthest thing from his mind. Even after he had left that horror behind him, entering a world overrun with humanity, he had never bothered to conceal his talents, using them at will in his relentless pursuit for revenge.

Erik did not know what it meant to have to hide, did not understand the crushing weight of knowing there was something _wrong_ with you, something amiss, a fatal flaw that turned others against you, and transformed friendly hands into those that thrust you as far from their person as possible. It had not taken Emma long to learn that her newly founds gifts were best kept to herself, and it had been Shaw, the man who stole Erik's freedom, who ultimately granted her her own. Erik would never, she knew, understand that. The attachment and loyalty she had possessed for the tyrant who stole his life was a mystery he would never be able to wrap his mind about, but the _reason_ those feelings had formed was another matter entirely, and it was important he understood. Vitally important, for no other reason than that, without his comprehension, Charles Xavier would never reach his full potential.

Her own life experiences had taught Emma that there was no mutant gift, no matter how powerful, that would ever instill such fear in the human race as the inability to control their own minds. Telepathy, in any form, would always create more panic than even the strongest of physical mutations, because the mind was the one thing everyone believed was safe, and the only thing she knew of whose loss could prompt such extreme, sheer terror in even the most steadfast of individuals. People craved control, associating it with safety, and to lose that control in such a way was an eventuality few could face with any sort of composure.

Telepathy was feared, her childhood had taught her that, and she had not needed to even brush the surface of Charles' mind to know he had experienced the same hostility and censure, without a personage such as Shaw to break the cycle. It was that upbringing that had given birth to the rigid self-restraint that went beyond anything she had ever encountered before, because Charles Xavier was not only prohibiting his powers, he was _inhibiting_ them. The growth of his psionic abilities had stuttered to a halt long before their full potential was explored, for no other reason than that their bearer had been told to utilize his extensive gifts was wrong. Not by a stranger, not even by someone who could not understand the concept of _being_ a mutant, but by a stray, shapeshifting waif who called herself his sister.

Whether Raven was aware of the fact it was _her_ demands for privacy, not the sidelong glances, the hesitantly voiced request, or the sheer hostility of those who did not quite understand what was happening, that had caused her brother's state of inertia was doubtful. That she was even _aware _of that state was even more unlikely, for she had done nothing to stop the other mutants inhabiting the Xavier Estate from compounding the damage she had already caused. Erik, especially, had contributed to the loathing directed at his own powers that was festering deep within the depthless mind of her fellow telepath, and Emma had been surprised to realize the only person _not_ demanding mental privacy was the only human in their company. Moira McTaggert's tolerance of mutant gifts, both physical and mental, was the only reason Emma had returned to aid Erik in his search for the missing CIA agent, though Emma doubted any of the Institution's other members had realized as much.

She had had high hopes for Moira, hopes that the human might be the one to finally unlock the hidden potential of their chosen leader, for she knew any attempt to do so on her own would most likely be misunderstood. Charles was tolerant of her, rising to her defense against Erik whenever necessary, but he was also wary, more wary than the metal bender gave him credit for, in fact, and she doubted any intervention on her part would be well received. On the other hand, with Moira's good influence removed from the picture, she had been forced to reassess her approach, a situation that had inevitably led to her rising to the defense of another individual for the first time in _years_.

It was not that she had any particular liking for Charles Xavier, the man was in possession of a great mind, but his ceaseless _caring_ was as much of a liability to his ability to think as Erik's anger was to his own cognitive functions. She did not care for, or idolize Charles in the same way his students did, nor did she feel the compulsive need to protect him that Erik seemed to have developed, but she did _respect_ him, both for his adherence to his ideals, and for the sheer amount of _control_ he possessed. She was a telepath, and she knew that control had been hard won, so it was camaraderie, more than anything, that had prompted her to act on his behalf. Charles was a mutant whose abilities were close enough to her own as to make any difference fairly insubstantial, they _understood_ one another.

Unfortunately, her intervention had been too little and too late. Erik had missed his opportunity to right the damage he had done, causing more, if nothing else, and, when she had tried to be honest with him, more painfully truthful than she had been with _anyone_ for years, the metal bender had thrown her concerns back in her face without a second's thought. The thought had crossed her mind at that point that Charles had been perfectly right to throw Erik out of the mansion, the man deserved much worse, but, whilst every fiber of her being was telling her to slap his face and walk out of what was so obviously a trap before it was too late, she found she could not do it. She had invested herself too far in the Institution, and the man who led it, to see all her work go to waste when the death of _another_ comrade shattered the false strength their leader was clinging to so precariously.

Emma Frost was not a woman prone to emotion, and _this_ was why.

Stryker's facility looked no less intimidating at close range than it had from afar, and she took a long moment after disembarking from their hijacked vessel to simply stare at the structure, the copter pilot as oblivious to their presence as he had been for the duration of their flight, unloading his vessel without ever registering their presence.

"Well?"

Erik's impatient prompting from beside her jerked her from her thoughts, and she turned slowly to stare at him, her eyes taking in the steel helmet adorning his head, and her mind flashing back to the resentment she had first felt when Shaw had used it to hide his mind from her. Now was not the time to reminisce, however, so she brushed that remembrance to the back of her mind, waving a hand casually towards their target.

"Everyone's where they ought to be, sugar," she drawled. "And if _that_ isn't enough to prove to you this is the most foolish thing you've done in a long time then I doubt there's much of a mind beneath that helmet for you to worry about losing."

"Why should it _prove_ anything?" he asked her, and it took her a long moment to realize he was actually _serious_.

Erik Lensherr, the man who had infiltrated more high security facilities than any of the rest of them put together, was unaware of how _contrived_ this seemed. Emma had accepted that his insistence on coming here was due to his own arrogance blinding him, but to act upon overconfidence and to not even _see_ the danger were two very different things entirely, and all she needed to realize that something was wrong here.

"I think we need to split up."

"What?" Erik stared at her, apparently taken aback by this abrupt change of subject.

"Once you've destroyed Cerebro, Stryker will be on to us, and there is no guarantee we'll be able to get either the plans or the rest of the mutants out before he retaliates. As I see it, we would be better off dividing our efforts and destroying both Cerebro and the stored information on it at once. Surely you can manage infiltrating the facility on your own?"

Folding her arms, she raised one eyebrow in a challenging gesture, watching with a deep sense of satisfaction as his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed, before, after a long, pregnant pause, he gave a taut nod.

"Fine, but don't expect me to rescue you if you get yourself caught."

"Ditto, sugar." Smiling, she waved a hand towards the entrance. "Do you want to lead the charge?"

Ignoring her deliberately mocking tone, Erik simply shook his head, marching across the tarmac with all the confidence of a man certain of his own invulnerability. Emma simply watched him go, her skin shifting from its pale hue to that of her glistening diamond form as her physical protection rose to reinforce her mental shields. Shifting her gaze from Erik's retreating form to the great dome of Cerebro hovering above the facility, she narrowed her eyes at the sphere-like structure.

"Sorry, honey," she murmured. "You're good, but _I'm_ better, and you can't hunt what you can't see."

**1st Class**

The hallway that was to lead him to Cerebro was empty, suspiciously so, and Erik stepped out into its expanse with every nerve buzzing, waiting for the hammer to fall. He had been confident attacking Stryker's hideout was the right thing to do, confident right up until the moment he had stepped through the door, and all of Emma's warnings had come crashing down upon his mind, as if he was hearing them for the first time. That confidence had dwindled away into caution now, and this new state of wariness was reinforced when a reaction to his entrance did not come, despite the uproar he had caused upon forcing his way into the building. Perturbed now, he slipped quietly down the passageway, keeping his goal in sight even as his eyes shifted constantly, seeking the enemies he knew must be present.

Ignoring the single, locked chamber on his right, he approached the double doors that marked Cerebro's entrance, not failing to note the fact this room, of all rooms, was the only one he had seen thus far not to be secured. Placing a hand on each door, he swung them inwards with a forceful shove, stepping inside with muscles coiled, ready to react. There was a moment, just a brief moment, when he thought he saw something, a flicker, a shadow, the feel of a weight being removed from his head. But when he raised his hands to check the helmet was still firmly in place, and there was no one standing in the room besides himself and the young woman staring back at him through dark eyes, standing alongside a head piece that was too familiar for this machine to have been built from anything less than Hank's own design.

"Erik Lensherr." The woman spoke first, her eyes tracking his movements as he allowed the doors to swing shut behind him, stepping further into Cerebro's familiar chamber. Her voice surprised him, because it didn't quite seem to belong to her, too young to be the right match for her face, but no sooner had that thought flitted through his mind then it was gone again, leaving him feeling strangely empty, his thoughts failing to dredge up the answers which should have already been at the forefront of his ponderings. "We've been expecting you."

"Expecting?" he echoed her dully, his mind sluggish, refusing to respond to his desperate attempts to restart his thought processes. His instincts were screaming at him now, frantically trying to tell him something, to alert him to some danger he was not seeing, but they were fading more with each passing second, smothered by the same blank slate that had already claimed his mind.

"Of course," she smiled, clasping her hands together before her. "We knew you were coming."

"How..." he frowned, a single, errant thought finally escaping the blanket of latency. "Wilson."

"Exactly," her smile had turned into something brittle now. "It took us some time to find a mutant whose mind was skilled enough to ensure you would not sense either our intentions or the touch of another telepath. All of this," she gestured at their surroundings. "Has taken months of preparation. Yours was not an easy group to penetrate, Mr. Lensherr, but we succeeded in the end."

"Whose 'we'?" Fighting against his own lethargic thoughts, Erik allowed his anger at the informant, the _traitor_, to spur his mind back to life. The helmet was still in place, he could feel it resting upon his brow, so the telepath could not have been responsible for his sudden lack of clarity on the mental front, leaving him at a loss to explain his own inability to think clearly.

"You don't need to know that," she shook her head, tone mildly scolding. "Mr. S has a task for you, Mr. Lensherr, and I am to insure you do not refuse to carry it out." Stepping down off the scaffold that housed Cerebro, she approached him slowly, coming to a halt a few inches short of touching him. "He trusts me to give you this task, because he knows I will not refuse him." She sobered then, her head tilting slightly as she glanced up at him. "What he does not know, is that there is a second assignment you will fulfill of my own making. That will be our secret, I think."

"And what makes you think I'm going to do anything for _either_ of you?" he demanded, realizing abruptly, to his horror, that not one of the words he had meant to speak had actually left his mouth. The woman before him merely smiled, her face flickering as she did so, between that of an older woman to a much younger girl.

"I do not_ think_, Mr. Lensherr, I _know_, because you do not have a choice in this matter," she told him simply, her face clouding as she added, "And neither do I." Erik opened his mouth to reply, to speak, to do anything but stand here and _let_ this happen, but the woman, the _girl_ before him, merely smiled, reaching out a hand to touch his sleeve as she uttered three simple words that were just as affective now as they had been when uttered by Charles.

"Go to sleep."

**1st Class**

"Moira? Moira, wake up, we have to go."

Someone was shaking her, quite roughly, she noted distantly, her mind struggling back to awareness, slowly at first, then with an abruptness that had her bolting upright, the memories of what she had witnessed, both asleep and awake, fresh in her mind.

"Moira, hey." A touch on her arm drew her attention away from those memories and up to James' concerned face, the young doctor leaning over her, dressed in dark clothes that made him blend into the shadows of the room. "It's time to go," he informed her, once he had her attention. "Are you ready?"

"I..." she swallowed sharply, trying to get her bearings, to _think_. The sight of such raw fear on Charles' face was still lingering at the forefront of her mind, the terror in his voice when he announced what was happening, what _would_ happen. She remembered, and yet she had nothing to go on, no way of knowing what it was Erik was trying to do.

"Moira." James was growing impatient now, and it was with a gentle tug that he forced her to her feet. "I'm serious, sweetheart, we really need to go."

"No. No, wait." Tugging back against his grip, Moira steadied herself a moment, shoving her thoughts back into good order, and enforcing the strict control she had acquired throughout her career as a government agent. "Something is wrong, James, very wrong. We can't leave."

"And _you_ can't stay." Kayla's entrance had gone unnoticed by both of them, but James did not jump as Moira did, instead simply casting the mutant a knowing glance. "The whole facility is in an uproar," Kayla announced, when Moira simply stared at her. "We have to get you out of here now, before Stryker discovers you're here."

"But, I can't..."

"This isn't a _debate_." Reaching for Moira's arm, Kayla's seized her in an iron grip that was much stronger than Moira would have expected simply from looking at her. "Come on!"

Her feet were moving before she was even aware of the fact, Kayla tugging her along relentlessly as they exited the practice and darted through the cover of the shadows towards the helipad on the other side of the building. Moira could hear James following close behind her, his steps quick and steady, but she paid his presence little mind, her attention focussed on the main facility, and the uproar she could hear even from this distance. The facts were falling into place now, sliding neatly into the whole puzzle, and she felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably as she realized who the source of that disturbance was most likely to be.

Whether or not it was Erik fighting for his life inside Stryker's lair, however, she herself was given no chance to intervene. Kayla had made good use of her grip on the CIA agent's arm, tugging her along with both her physical and her mental strength, so that it was not until James was bundling her into the helicopter that Moira realized what it was the tactile telepath had done. By then it was too late to do anything but take the seat James pushed her towards, the young doctor turning back to their mutant companion as Kayla withdrew her hand from the pilot's shoulder.

"Be careful," he cautioned her. "Just because Stryker is distracted doesn't mean he will be oblivious."

"I know," Kayla glanced past him, her eyes meeting Moira's steadily. "Get out safely," she said firmly. "I'll do what I can for your friend, but it's probably too late already. Find the others, get them out of Stryker's reach, if you hurry you may still have a chance to save them."

She stepped away before Moira had a chance to respond, closing the side door on the copter with a firm 'bang', and darting back towards the hulking mass of the building. Vaguely, Moira heard James offering her words of comfort, of reassurance, but she was in no mood to receive them. Charles had told her Erik was walking into a trap, and she believed him, but Stryker would never settle for a single mutant as a prize, and, if Erik had only been the first, she knew what was still to come could only be worse.

**1st Class**

Emma stood still in the entranceway to Cerebro, a far darker Cerebro than the one she knew, her presence invisible in both the physical and the mental sense. She knew how to hide when need called for it, even from a mutant as powerful as this one, powerful enough to attempt to block her own powers. Defense had always been her strongest talent, and she was employing it to its full potential right now, even as her worst fears were in the process of being confirmed by the sight that had met her eyes the moment she entered the room.

Erik had arrived before her, rushing headlong into danger without a thought for the consequences, and he now stood near the center of the chamber, his eyes staring at something that was not there, seeing a room whose interior was by no means a match for reality, the helmet that had once adorned his head floating aimlessly above his skull, removed by the telekinetic skills of his opponent. Skills he had _failed_ to take into account, with dire results.

"Enjoying the show?"

Emma whirled upon hearing the voice, startled anyone should be able to see her when she was purposefully projecting the illusion she was _not_ present, though that surprise dwindled away into a slow forming realization when she saw who had addressed her.

William Stryker Junior was a man whose relative youth had in no way prevented him from adopting a hatred as great and malicious as that his father bore, and it showed readily in the harsh planes of his face, twisted as his visage was into a dark smile that portrayed all too clearly the cruelty lingering behind his teal eyes. Emma could read his face just as clearly as she could read any mind, and it was with a sense of aloof disgust that she returned his gaze with a steadiness that did not falter.

"Emma Frost, is it not?" he continued with false civility. "Did you enjoy your stay so much the first time you decided to drop by for another visit?"

Emma chose not to answer him, maintaining her silence as she studied him openly, ensuring her mental barriers maintained their impenetrable diamond wall as her body mirrored the mental safeguard.

"It is a shame." The man before her shook his head in mock regret. "You would have been so _valuable_ to us had you chosen to stay, but you had to go and pick the wrong side, didn't you? And now..." The civility vanished, replaced by malice, and she stiffened unconsciously, her body shifting instinctively into a ready stance. "Now, you are in my _way_."

"Wade Wilson was working for you, wasn't he?" she answered him calmly, buying time, her mind swiftly forming possibilities and discarding them with just as much haste. It had not taken her more than a minute in this man's presence to realize something was wrong with him, something that prevented her from using her powers on him, and, even without being able to read his mind, the rest of her conclusions had been drawn fairly quickly. They had walked into a trap, a trap she had _tried_ to warn Erik was there, but he had disregarded her warnings, and now they were both likely to meet a messy end. "You knew I would not be able to read his mind, and you knew Erik would never be able to resist such an opportunity as you had given him."

"Guilty as charged, Miss Frost," Stryker smiled, before waving a hand towards the still figure of the metal bender. "Don't you want to stop what is about to happen?"

"Why would I want to?" Staring at him with a sense of mild curiosity, Emma shifted her weight from one leg to another, the movements smooth, graceful, and entirely unconcerned. "You are assuming I care."

"Of course," Stryker smiled slowly. "You were Shaw's pet, were you not? The White Queen. Icy, impenetrable, and currently caught in a trap from which she cannot escape. Do you hope to bargain with me, then?"

"Hardly," she snorted dismissively. "Let's be honest, sugar, you have no intentions of 'bargaining'. You intend to kill me as soon as you have had your fun."

"Now, now, there's no need to be like that. _You_ are the intruder here, after all, common courtesy dictates you show a few manners." Smiling serenely, he drew a gun from the holster at his waist, making a show of cocking it, before lifting it to point it squarely at her heart. "Let's greet each other properly, shall we?"

"You can't hurt me with that," she informed him, relieved at the man's simplicity, though none of her thoughts showed on her glistening face. "Given the high probability of a ricochet, it's more likely to kill _you_."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that."

It was all the warning she had. Eight simple words, uttered less than a millisecond before he pulled the trigger, the explosion of noise paling in comparison to the sudden shock of _pain_ as the bullet struck her. For a moment her world wavered and warped, her surroundings dancing in and out of shadows, and when awareness returned to her she found herself lying on the hard, steel floor, her diamond form shattered, and her hand unwittingly grasping at her bloody shoulder as she stared up at her attacker in shock.

"Hardest substance in the world, there, Miss Frost." he smirked, making a show of replacing the weapon in its rightful position at his belt, before turning back to her with a look of such intense triumph her rage almost overwhelmed the red, hot agony piercing through her shoulder. "Unfortunately, you just couldn't compete."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N **I am so, sooo sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I've just been so busy and tired lately that writing anything is pretty much impossible. My own slackness aside, however, I'd like to thank everyone who has struck around despite the lack of update. Here's the next one, I hope it makes up for the wait.

**Quote: **"True friends stab you in the front."- **Oscar Wilde**

**/Chapter 15\**

**-And We All Fall Down-**

There was a moment of swirling confusion. A moment where he swayed and spun, fighting to keep his balance, to find a foothold, and to not _lose_ what he had gained through his perilous trek into his enemy's world of mental turbulence. The one who had revealed the truth to him was now lashing out, forced to act by the same machine that gave her so much power, pressured into removing the information she had already planted in his mind. He fought to keep it, clinging for all he was worth to the knowledge she had risked so very much to give him, but he felt the strands slipping through his fingers, the facts escaping despite his best efforts to keep them locked beyond her reach. He was too weak, too mentally and physically exhausted to put up a fight great enough to make a difference. Nevertheless, he managed, through sheer effort of will, to cling to the basic instinct of _danger_ Phoenix had so carefully implanted in his mind.

The restrictions forced upon her by her captors might prevent her from disobeying their directives to a certain point, but this young girl was far wiser than her oppressors suspected, and the damage had already been done.

Startled from his telepathic trance by the sheer force of Phoenix's sudden rejection of his presence, Charles jerked back to awareness, his eyes flying open when his senses were immediately assaulted by the acrid smell of smoke and burning metal. For a moment he thought he was still in the illusion, still seeing the full horror of Stryker's plan playing out before him, but as the weight of Cerebro's helm removed itself from his head that theory proved itself void, and he spun about to identify the cause, only to gape in disbelieving horror. It took him a good, full minute to regain control of his voice, his eyes snapping away from the scene of destruction before him and up to the somewhat sheepish expression of the mutant outlined by the massive, _burning_ rupture in the entranceway.

"Good Lord, Alex! What did you do to the _door_?"

Alex opened his mouth to reply, though whether with an apology or an excuse Charles would never know, because, before he even had time to brace himself, he was struck head on by a raging, blue fury. The force of Raven's impact was irresistible, sending him reeling backwards against the consoles, Cerebro's controls the only thing keeping them both upright. Choking beneath the force of her embrace, Charles tried to extract himself from her grip with minimal success, resorting to verbal admonishment when his attempts to free himself proved useless.

"Raven, I need..."

"Shut up! Just _shut _up!" Her voice was muffled by the material of his coat, but the pure and absolute fury was still blatantly audible. Pulling back, she fisted her hands in his coat, amber eyes blazing with unconcealed fury. "What the _hell_ were you thinking, Charles?"

It had been a long while since he had seen her this enraged, but the reaction was not entirely unexpected, a quick glance over her shoulder informing him he was unlikely to receive any help from that quarter. Hank was looking only slightly less livid than Raven, whilst Sean had somehow managed to adopt a look of severe disapproval ill suited to his normally congenial features. Alex, hovering conspicuously in the hallway, merely looked confused, and Charles wondered absently how long Raven had left him in Cerebro before deciding enough was enough. Shifting his focus back to the determined young woman still glaring at him with only a little less vehemence than a few seconds before, Charles gave her a truthful answer, knowing, even as he did so, that it wasn't going to pacify her in the slightest.

"It was necessary."

"Ne..._Necessary_?" Raven spluttered, her eyes narrowing at him in incredulous disbelief. Her hands were shaking now, fingers clenched so tightly her skin would have been turning white had she been in her old guise.

"Yes," he answered her calmly, but firmly, well aware he didn't have the time to respond to her questions in a manner she would find satisfactory. He was responsible for her welfare, and for the welfare of everyone else on the Estate, a daunting prospect, perhaps, but not a responsibility he would shy away from. Their enemy was, at long last, making their move, and it was time to put all their preparations to good use. The fact he had ruthlessly betrayed Raven's trust was a hurdle he would have to overcome eventually, but not just yet. _Later, there will be time for that later. For now..._ "Where is Emma?"

He directed the question at Hank, more hopeful of drawing a response from the beast mutant than his still speechless sister. For a moment, Hank looked set to argue, or simply not answer at all, but, after heaving an all-too-dramatic sigh, the scientist nodded his head towards the door in a vague gesture.

"Gone, I don't know where." He hesitated, but only briefly, before adding in some frustration, "Professor, what is going on?"

_Damn._ Charles' frowned, but didn't voice that thought aloud. He had hoped Erik might have left without the female telepath. Hoped, but realized it was not likely. He didn't know whether or not Emma had a role in Stryker's plans, Phoenix hadn't been able to show him that much, or, if she had, she had removed the memory not long after forming it. But, if Emma had traveled to the CIA facility with Erik he had to discard the possibility of her aid in his calculations. She was as lost to them right now as Erik was, and _that_ was a problem he was in no fit mental state to contend with right now. Erik was beyond his reach, and the best he could hope for was that the metal bender would realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late, or at least manage to extract himself from it if he did happen to spring it. His first priority now was the children, and getting them to safety, before Stryker's first line of invaders made it this far, and the knowledge Phoenix had reclaimed proved just how much he had cost them by not being able to retain it all.

"Raven. Raven, _listen_ to me." Ignoring Hank's question for the moment, Charles gently pried his sister's hands away, forcing her to focus on what he was saying before he continued. _Prioritize. Plan. Proceed. You certainly knew what you were about when you told me that, my friend. _"We need to get the children out."

"_What_?" Any residual anger dissipated at once beneath a layer of fearful anticipation, a sentiment that was echoed by the other mutants now gathered in the room. This was an eventuality they had all planned for, an event they had long known was coming, but now that it had finally arrived they were all equally stricken by the enormity of its occurrence. Charles didn't have time to allow them to come to the terms with the fact, however, and he waited only a brief half minute before launching further orders their way. _Neutralize the current threat, everything else can be dealt with later._

"The students, Raven, they need to be evacuated through the tunnels as quickly as possible. I assume Riptide is watching over them right now?" At Hank's nod, he continued, "Good. Raven, take Riptide, Sean, and Alex and see to it they get to the escape room unharmed. Two of you take point, the other two bring up the rear. Close the blast doors behind you."

"Close the..." Raven's eyes widened in horror, recognizing his intent almost immediately. "Charles!"

"We don't have time to argue, Raven."

"We're not leaving without you!" She cut him off before he could add more to that sentence, her eyes flashing dangerously, informing him, quite clearly, that he had already pushed enough boundaries for one day.

"Of course not," he reassured her quickly. "Hank and I will take the overland route. If we can't get in contact with Azazel we'll have to risk using the new jet to make our escape."

Raven nodded, seemingly satisfied, before her expression clouded again and she voiced the question Charles was sure was on all their mind's. "Escape from what?"

"I don't have time to explain, Raven, just do it. Please." Waiting only long enough to be sure she would not protest further, though he did not need to even _touch_ her mind to know she wanted to, Charles watched her turn and flee the room at a run, Alex and Sean on her heels, before turning next to Hank. "Those extra securities measures you installed, Hank?"

"Will hold them off for a little while." The scientist' face was grim. "But not for long. It isn't like I had a lot of resources available."

"We just need to buy a little time, and see if you can get a call through to Angel." He strongly suspected someone had already taken care of any aid they might have received from the Hellfire Club, but he wasn't about to discount the possibility without at least attempting that avenue.

Hank started to move away, but paused after taking only a single step. "What are you going to do, Professor?" Reaching for the domed headpiece he had discarded moments before, Charles merely gave the scientist a grim smile.

"Whatever I can."

**1st Class**

Elsewhere, a helicopter pilot in the employ of the CIA would veer away from his intended route to Washington D.C, touching down instead on the edge of the state of New York. Why he made this detour, or who disembarked from his vessel once he had would forever remain a mystery to him, though the Directors of the CIA responsible for dealing with the new mutant problem would not forget the incident for many a long month.

**1st Class**

Pain.

It was not something she had ever truly learnt to tolerate, her impenetrable diamond form making her near impervious to physical torment, and her icy veneer ensuring her emotions were safely secluded where they could not be used against her. Pain was the only thing she really feared, because it was also the only thing that could make her lose control. She had proven as much when Erik and Charles caught her in Russia, when she had been unable to hide her fear as her diamond throat cracked, unable to hold her defenses together well enough to keep Charles out. She was confronted with that same weakness now, as she half lay on the floor, staring up at Stryker in stupefied shock, unable to breathe, unable to _think_, robbed of her only weapon, because, telepath or no, she _could not_ read this man.

"There is no need to look so stunned, Miss Frost."

Stryker Junior smirked at her, his very person radiating an absurd sort of arrogance and superiority. He had nothing to be proud of, Emma thought, holding her thoughts back behind clenched teeth. Nothing to be proud of, because _he_ hadn't beaten her. That had been the work of whatever was blocking her telepathy, and the strange metal that had allowed his bullet to pierce her diamond form and the vulnerable flesh it encased. The strength by which he was winning this battle was not his own, and she despised him for it.

"Did you really think," he continued confidently, ignoring the icy daggers her blue eyes had formed. "That we would not have found ways by which to control your _kind_."

The word was uttered as though he could think of nothing more distasteful, and Emma, one hand desperately trying to stem the flow of blood from her shoulder, finally regained her voice. "You haven't controlled anybody, sugar." Somewhere, in the very small part of her that still had the capability to _care_, a remnant of the girl Emma Frost had once been prayed her own words were true. "There are more of us in this world than you can even _begin _to imagine. It doesn't matter how many of us you manage to round up with your pitiful little toys, we will _never_ be gone."

"Oh, I quite agree, you may as well be a plague for how far the infection you are has spread," he nodded soberly, sharing a look with her that was far more intimate than their relationship warranted. "But, just between you and me, Miss Frost, there _is_ a way to find you all."

She did not give him the satisfaction of seeing the shock of realization in her mind present on her face, remaining instead stoic and silent, pretending not to notice Erik's frozen form behind her, hanging limply in the air like some sort of twisted puppet, kept afloat by a mind so powerful she feared it far more than she would ever fear the man before her. What the CIA's pet telepath was currently doing to his mind she could only imagine, she didn't have focus enough to both read his unconscious thoughts and keep the enemy out of her own, and, right now, the latter priority took precedence.

"That's right, dear Emma." Pacing past her, Stryker ignored the very real threat she still posed, drifting around the room with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. "I'm sure we both know what I'm talking about."

"Cerebro." He would not speak further until she gave him some sort of reward for his pitiful efforts, so, staggering unsteadily to her feet, using the wall for support, she met his exuberant look with her own steady gaze, never loosening her strict grasp on her outward appearance. Her face would never tell him her true thoughts, and her voice was just as flat when she continued. "The Professor has been your goal all along."

"Oh, bravo!" he offered her a mock applause. "Unfortunately, your little assessment of the mutant numbers on Earth is too accurate for comfort. There _are_ a lot of you, far too many for us to hope to track down one at a time. And yet, lo and behold! Here, right when we need it, is a mutant capable of finding every other abomination anywhere in the world! We tried, you know, using another mutant to fulfill the same role. Unfortunately, your little machine doesn't quite react the same to other telepaths. Phoenix couldn't find them, not the way your leader can. Of course, it wasn't quite as simple as plucking him out of your midst, because you would have come after him inevitably, and, even with Phoenix, there was no guarantee we would be able to overpower a telepath of such magnificent talent. It took many, _many_ months of research to discover you had all created your own weakness, punching a hold in _his_ defenses so large it was ridiculously easy to exploit."

Smiling inanely, he finally came to a halt beside Erik, his gaze flitting intermittently between him and her. "You see, Miss Frost, the main danger in trying to approach a telepath is that they will somehow be able to read your thoughts, invade your mind, and take control. We have a vaccine, yes, but it is not infallible, and it does not work for everyone. All it takes for an expedition to go wrong is for one soldier to step out of line and change sides because of a little mental probing. So, we knew a frontal assault was not viable, the telepath would surely have noticed us, but there was one way in, one person whose mind he would not read. All we needed was to get that person on _our_ side and we had all the leverage we needed to get your precious little telepath out of the way long enough to destroy the rest of the 'Institution', along with anyone else in the vicinity who might pose a threat. With you gone, he will be ours to do with what we will."

Reaching up into the air, he plucked the floating metal helmet, Shaw's beloved invention, from the air, turning it over and over in his hands as he completed his monologue. "Of course, there was no chance Erik Lensherr would help us willingly, so we were forced to rather extreme measures. There was always a possibility this would not work, that the individuals involved would not react the way we thought they would, but, in the end, it all turned out for the best. A little prodding from Phoenix, and here you all are, ready for the final act of this little drama."

"And what makes you think you've won?" she demanded, her tone low and dangerous. "Has your arrogance blinded you to the fact we were already aware of all this?" She gestured at their surroundings, not hesitating to meet his gaze as she spoke, "We _knew_ of this."

"Oh, I think not," he shook his head, clearly amused by her attempt at bluffing. At what _he_ thought was bluffing, and what she sincerely hoped was truth. Charles had been striving to uncover the reality behind the ruse before she left the mansion via Cerebro's mental network, all their hopes now lay with him, and whether or not he had been successful. "My spy tells me you are just as oblivious as ever."

"Orez." Erik had suspected, and she had to, it was no leap of logic to give voice to the name. "He stole the plans as well, no doubt."

"Very good. Yes, Agent _Zero _is one of our best operatives." Grinning at her, Stryker set the helmet to one side, leaning back against the metal bed that housed Phoenix. "Do you want to know what the best thing about all this is, Miss Frost?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me regardless of any personal preferences." Blood loss was beginning to make her weak, and the retort was without the usual nonchalance she tried to infuse in all her words.

"Such a short time, and you know me so well already." His smile had transformed into something cold, his fingers tapping out an uneven rhythm on the metal surface, and his eyes dark with cruel intent. "I never expected you to turn up here, Emma, but now that you are I have no need to call upon my own resources, because _yours _will serve just as well. Shooting you served a purpose, after all, my dear. Our records suggested pain lowered your defenses, and, given the knowledge our Phoenix just plucked from your mind, I would say they were right. Ah!" A soft poof punctuated the word, and Emma turned slowly, her dread already well settled before her eyes fell upon the figure that had materialized beside her, eyes glazed, face more expressionless than she had ever seen it, and mind no longer his own.

"Azazel." Stryker was practically purring. "How nice of you to join us."

**1st Class**

Angel knew something was wrong the moment Azazel vanished without a word of explanation. The teleporter may not have been an overly vocal individual at the best of times, but he always gave some small gesture to his companions to explain his intentions, even if it was just a bare nod of farewell, there was always _something_. She _knew_ something was wrong, and the fact Wade Wilson had yet to vacate the room only reinforced that suspicion. It was an unnerving realization, and not one she welcomed with any sort of enthusiasm, well aware no one would hear anything amiss should events follow a certain pattern she would much rather avoid.

"Well, Miss Salvadore." She jumped when he spoke, her eyes jerking away from the exit she had been eyeing and back up to his face, her heart stuttering briefly as she beheld the sword now resting in the lax grip of his right hand, the fingers of his left caressing its sharp edge lovingly. "It's been nice, you know, it really has, but business is business."

"How long have you been working for them?" Her voice was strong, unwavering, and she straightened her stance without conscious thought, determined that, if this was to be the end, she would not go out without a fight. She had been played, and that stung, but the game was not over yet, and she was not beaten.

"A long, _looong_ while now," he smiled, the genuine emotion behind the gesture almost terrifying, because she would have preferred insincerity to the clear instability now on display before her. Unseen, above his head, a small light flashed, letting her know someone had just entered the club. Ally or enemy she could not have said, and she had no room for speculation, all her attention focussed on the danger in the room with her right now. "I've been waiting for an opportunity, for the moment when Mr. Reckless would depart from his steadying sidekick long enough to plant a few seeds in the fertile gardens of his mind. It doesn't take much, you know, Angel dear, to set your resident maniac off on a wild quest for vengeance."

"I don't understand." She was edging towards the spinning booth, a fact he did not appear to have noticed, though she knew better than to believe that careless nonchalance. "Why? _Why_ turn against us. We're like you!"

"Oh, no," he shook his head. "No, you're not like me at all, Angel. You see, you have a reason for what you do, morals, ethics, call it whatever you like. Me, I just like the thrill of the chase, and it doesn't really matter whose giving the orders." He spun his sword, grinning at her as excitement flashed in his eyes. "It doesn't matter, just so long as the prey makes it interesting."

She was still too far from the spinning booth to make a run for it, but, as she stood on the threshold, hovering in indecision, the shrill ring of the phone resting on the desk jerked his attention away from her for a brief second, and that was all she needed to throw herself down upon the leather clad seats and slam the button down hard. The booth spun swiftly, too quickly for Wade to dive into the gap, and the moment it had turned she was up and running, weaving her way through the tables, and almost crashing into the muscular man she had failed to see in the dim lighting.

"Whoa! Steady on there!" Strong hands gripped her arms, and she froze, staring up into the unfamiliar features of their owner in utter terror. She may be a mutant, and she knew she was not weak, but there was no way she could take two of them on at once. "What's the hurry?"

"Let me go!" Panic overrode reason, and she tugged away from him, staggering back in surprise when he quickly released her, holding up both hands in an attempt to calm her.

"Easy! Easy, bub, I'm not here to hurt you. I just need..."

Before he could complete his sentence, the booth had spun once again, and Wade was bolting from its interior, both swords in hand, spinning at a speed too fast for her eyes to track. Smothering a scream, she ducked and rolled away, leaving her unknown companion to fend for himself as she tore away the cloth keeping her wings in place, leaping for the safety the landing above offered.

"What the _hell_?"

The man who had caught her was now fending off Wade's furious attack, apparently using nothing more than his bare hands, though she could hear the distinctive ring of metal on metal, even if she could not see the source. Uncertain, she hovered for a moment, torn between going to help him and fleeing to safety, perhaps sending warning to the mansion, if it was not too late. The decision was taken from her, however, as the deafening boom of gunfire filled the darkened club, and a sudden pain tore its way through her wing. Her shoulder. Her stomach. Her vision turned to a red haze as she plummeted, twisting in the air to land with a crash on the tables below, rolling off one to land beneath another, her breath caught in her lungs as she twisted in agony.

Someone swore, and she flinched as a shadowy silhouette joined her beneath the table, using it as a shield against the continuing gunfire from above. It took her a moment, her vision wavering in and out, and her mind threatening to make the transition from conscious to not, but she finally managed to recognize the man who had grasped her before, and, in desperation, she reached out to seize his wrist, her hand slick with blood, drawing his intent gaze away from their attackers and back to her. His eyes widened quite considerably when they at last came to rest on her broken form, but she ignored the clear omens of her own fate hidden in his shocked expression, forcing her words to form about the blood choking her.

"Ch...Charles Xavier." She was risking everything by uttering his name aloud, but she had no one else she could depend upon, and, if the enemy was firing upon this man, this _mutant_, then she could be certain he was not on their side. "Find...Find Charles Xavier."

"What?" He was staring at her blankly, and she suspected he thought she was delirious with pain. Tightening her grip on his arm, she pulled herself up off the floor, ignoring the incredible agony that small movement caused as she met him on eye level, not blinking as she repeated her message.

"Find Charles Xavier."

"Right, okay," he nodded jerkily, still looking wary, and flinching as another round of gunfire bounced off their inadequate shelter. She wondered briefly what had become of Wade, but before she could ponder on it further he was speaking again. "And what, exactly, am I supposed to tell him when I find him?"

"Tell him..." she gulped, her grip weakening, though, to her surprise, he moved one arm to support her as she began to falter. For a moment she paused, wondering what to say, how to word it in a way that would not betray any more than she had to. Her mind flickered back to the day she had first met the Professor, and a sad smile danced across her lips at the memory now fresh in her mind. She had always been an actor, really, with a penchant for drama, and she could not resist the temptation now. "Tell the vicar show time is over."

The look he was giving her now was one of utter confusion, but she had no strength left in her body to react to it, and, closing her eyes, she surrendered to the pain and exhaustion threatening to overcome her, letting the darkness come unhindered.

**1st Class**

"Erik?"

Charles froze at the bottom of the stairs, one hand gripping the banister tightly, the other clenched at his side, knuckles white. His efforts beneath Cerebro's helm had proven almost entirely useless, Phoenix strength too great for him to have any significant impact on the events unfolding in the world around them, save for ensuring Moira's escape went off without a hitch. He had been on his way to meet up with Hank on the second floor when the familiar sound of Azazel's arrival caused him to turn, only to find himself staring into the face of a man he should have been able to trust with his life.

At the moment, however, it was all he could do to stand his ground.

"It was a trap."

The declaration was flat, in true Erik style, but there was something broiling beneath the surface, a furnace alight in the pale depths of his eyes, and Charles could already feel the anger rolling off his form. He could understand that emotion all too well, because Erik never liked being blindsided, and its presence offered him a little reassurance that, _yes_, this _was_ his friend.

A little, but not yet enough.

"I know," he nodded slowly, forcing himself to relax, to look less like a man facing his arch nemesis. "I..."

"They have Emma."

Erik interruption stopped him in his tracks, and he sucked in a sharp breath, resisting the urge to raise a hand in an ultimately fruitless attempt to dispel the headache lurking within his skull. Emma. They had Emma. Erik had not made his escape unscathed, then.

"How did you...?" He could not bring himself to voice the question entire, but Erik understood what he was asking nonetheless.

"She brought us time," he said slowly, his hand flexing minutely at his side, his gaze somewhat distant. "She was the distraction. It was a _trap_, Charles." He froze, apparently rerunning their conversation up until now through his head, his eyes widening and turning on the telepath in sudden, incredulous disbelief. "What do you mean you _knew_?"

"I didn't find out until it was already too late." Startled to find himself suddenly on the defensive, Charles was quick to correct the metal bender's erroneous assumption. "I'm sorry, Erik, I truly am. I tried to warn you, but you were wearing the helmet and...and where _is_ your helmet?"

"Collateral damage. She _is_ telekinetic."

"Which is why Emma had to cover your escape?"

"That and Azazel couldn't get past her defenses until Emma had bored a hole in them," Erik nodded shortly. "Look, Charles, we don't have much time. Have you evacuated the students yet?"

"Of course." More confident now that the person he was talking to really _was_ Erik, because why would he have wasted so much time talking if he was not?, Charles stepped closer to the only mutants, besides himself and Hank, still present within the mansion. "Raven's taken them with her."

"Good. I expect Stryker will be here soon."

"So do I," Charles nodded, a vague image of shattered glass and masked figures with guns flitting through his mind. "It is just as well you brought Azazel with you, my friend, the evacuation will go much quicker with him present."

"In that case we had best stop wasting time." Laying a hand on the teleporter's shoulder, Erik extended the other towards Charles, the telepath's momentary hesitation not going unnoticed. "Is something wrong?"

Charles paused, not quite prepared to offer an answer to that question. _Was_ something wrong? All of Erik's actions seemed to point to a negative answer, but there was still that doubt gnawing in the back of his mind, something he should know, knowledge he had lost, and he could not quite banish the thought that to go with Erik was a very, _very_ bad idea.

"Charles?" the metal bender prompted, head cocked to one side. "There isn't much time."

And that was what it boiled down to, in the end, wasn't it? There _wasn't_ much time, and he could stand here deliberating over this for as long as he liked, but that fact would never change, and Erik would never leave without him, regardless of whether he was being controlled or not. But still, was it worth the risk?

"Professor!" A call from above jerked his attention away from Erik and up to the landing, Hank's voice preceding his appearance. "I couldn't get a hold of Angel and...Erik, Azazel!" The scientist trailed off in surprise when he saw the two below. "What's going on?"

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but before he could finish forming the words Erik took advantage of his distraction, seizing a hold of his arm. Startled, Charles' spun, trying to pull himself free, but it was too late, and his surroundings had already dissolved, shifting and blurring until they transformed into something else.

"Erik?" He couldn't quite keep the panic out of his voice when he spoke, swinging about in search of his companion, only to freeze when he found the metal bender no longer at his side, but instead standing in the doorway, one hand ready to press the door closed, his voice as apologetic as his expression when he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Charles, but this is the safest place for you right now."

"No, Erik, _wait_!"

He leapt for the door, but too late, for Erik had already swung it closed with a definitive thud, the lock slamming into place, leaving him alone in a cage built specifically to hold him.

Alone in the room full of mirrors.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: The Universe is conspiring against me, I swear! No sooner do I FINALLY get the time to actually revise, upload, and POST something than Fanfiction net stops WORKING. ARGGHHHH!...**

**Sooo...It's been a long time, I know, and I offer sincere apologies for that. This chapter has actually been typed up for a week or more, just waiting for the final revision, but I had to go back through the rest of the story to make sure nothing I put in this part contradicted any of the earlier stated facts, and then wait for the site to actually work. On top of that, I've been working for the last two weeks or so as a berry-picker, as well as looking for a more permanent form of employment. After those two priorities, my horse comes next in line, and unfortunately writing gets bumped further down the ladder. Things should be calmer for the next week or so, though, so hopefully that means I can finish this up. As a final note of interest, there are actually only a few more chapters to go before this Act is all done. :-D **

**Quote: **"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face."-**Eleanor Roosevelt**

**/Chapter 16\**

**-Stand and Fight-**

Panicking, it turned out, was not a state of being that proved to be at all productive. After several minutes of simply _throwing_ himself against the walls of his glass prison, with little to no effect besides numerous bruises he was sure to feel later, Charles took a step back and _forced_ himself to be calm. His rigid control over his telepathy had not been an easy skill to develop, in fact it had been near painful at times, but he was grateful for the many hours that had gone into perfecting it now as he reeled his powers in as far as they would go, hoping to lessen the _emptiness_ gnawing at him by creating a pretense that his solitude was of his own making. With his barriers in place, the complete and utter _silence_ around him became slightly more bearable, and he opened his eyes to stare at his own pale reflection, his chest still heaving as he sought to regain his breath.

_Not_ panicking was, he decided pointedly, definitely the most important goal to keep in mind for the time being. Unfortunately, it was also an exceedingly difficult outcome to avoid, because, finding himself suddenly alone, in _every_ possible sense of the word, was a far more terrifying prospect than it had been with Erik standing alongside him. The fact Erik had been the one to _put_ him there didn't help matters at all, nor did the fact that he had made the wrong decision. _Again_. Within this glass prison he was helpless, unable to affect the outside world, unable to warn Hank and the others, and...Dear God, the escape tunnels were _made_ out of _metal_.

His panic and self recrimination forgotten in an instant, Charles resumed the rounds of the room he had abandoned mere minutes before, desperately seeking a way out as terror, a new kind of fear this time, wormed its way through his mind. He had forgotten, in those first few moments of absolute and utter horror, that _his_ life was not the only thing at stake here, and remembering _that_, remembering that there were others relying upon him for their safety and well-being, did more to ward off the panic of no longer being able to sense his telepathy than any other technique he had tried.

Throwing his thoughts against the mirrors was useless, he had tried that already to no avail, and he could find no way to trigger the stair mechanism in the floor that Erik had unlocked earlier. If there was a way to open it manually, which, he knew full well, there probably was, it was not immediately apparent, if it was even _inside_ the room at all. But Shaw's first room had not been entirely infallible, and this one surely had faults of its own. He was not Erik, metal would not follow his bidding as it did the older mutant's, but glass was still breakable when enough force was applied.

All he needed was one crack.

**1st Class**

Emma opened her eyes slowly, cautiously, well aware of the tight bindings holding her hands in place behind her, cutting cruelly into the tender flesh of her wrists, and the fact the last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was the barrel of a gun aimed at her head. Judging by the dull ache emanating from her right temple, she had been struck by the weapon, and the stiffness of the corresponding cheek told her the wound had bled more than a little. Her wounded shoulder still throbbed, but the very fact she was still alive led her to believe someone else had stopped the bleeding before it became life threatening, and the tight feeling of fabric pressing against her skin only reaffirmed that supposition. Beyond that, there was no information to be gleaned from her own health, and she carefully edged herself into a sitting position to examine her surroundings.

The room she had been placed it was ridiculously small, barely allowing enough room for her small frame, so that she was forced to bend her knees in order to avoid becoming crushed between its walls. A closet then. She had been shoved in a _closet_. A closet lined with mirrors beneath its deceptive metal surface, no less, if the current sense of absolute stillness in her mind was any indication. She almost laughed at that realization, for the fact _Shaw's_ own weapons should be used against _her_, once his most loyal follower, was far too ironic to miss. Her situation as a whole, however, was far too serious to warrant giving in to that urge to display her mirth, and she directed her attention towards the more immediate matters at hand.

Escape could, she knew, prove difficult.

Unlike Shaw's original design, this room was far from flawless, and the entranceway through which she had been thrust was easily discernible from the rest of the tiny space. With her hands bound as they were, however, and her movements limited by the sheer lack of room around her, she doubted she would be able to manipulate that oversight to work in her favor. In all honesty, she had nothing to work with at all, but surrender was not a course of action she had ever found tasteful, and she was not about to adopt such a strategy now.

With that in mind she twisted herself around in order to gain a more comfortable position, before slamming her booted foot against the door, again, and again, and again. She wasn't really expecting the metal frame to give, so when it did, the door swinging outwards more smoothly than her violent assault should have allowed, she recoiled instantly, tensing in preparation for an attack that never came. Instead of Stryker's familiar leer, she found herself staring into the intent, dark eyes of a young woman barely old enough to classify as an adult, her presence dwarfed by the lumbering mass of muscle hovering behind her, ready to intercept any and all threats.

"Well." Leaning back against the wall, more to prevent herself from toppling to the side as her head spun, she stared at the pair of them indifferently. "I wasn't expecting an _escort_."

"And you're not getting one," her liberator retorted quickly, her tone clipped and hurried. "Come on, we don't have much time."

It was not a diagnosis she could argue, so she pushed herself painfully to her feet, ignoring the way her vision warped and twisted in protest as she stepped out of her tiny prison, pausing just long enough for her rescuer to untie her hands, before spinning about to face them both. Sensing the question she was too proud to ask, the young woman before her spoke again as she sealed the glass closet, hiding all traces of Emma's escape.

"My name is Kayla," she introduced herself, before waving a hand towards her companion. "This is Fred. We can get you out of here, Miss Frost, but we must be quick, before Stryker or Mr. S return."

"They're both away from home, then?" A quick screening of the younger woman's mind revealed no ill intent, and a rather remarkable touch talent, but the latter was unimportant for the time being, and so she focussed on the former, falling into step between the pair as they hurried down the deserted corridors.

"Agent Stryker took a strike force out some time ago," Kayla nodded, jerking to a halt as she checked the intersection they had reached for any sign of danger, before hurrying them all along the left branch. "I don't know where he was going, but he won't be back for a while. As for Mr. S, well, I think he wanted to witness his plan coming together. He won't be in the thick of the action, he prefers to watch, but it's safe to say he's out of the way for the moment. Phoenix is too occupied in carrying out his scheme to take any notice of us, and we can use that to get you out of here."

"How?" Emma returned calmly, meeting Kayla's gaze squarely. "Wade Wilson was not lying when he said that helicopter was the only way in and out."

"You've met Wade?" Surprise flashed across the brunette's face. "How...Oh, never mind..." Dismissing her own question with a quick shake of her head, Kayla explained, "Normally, that would be true, but Phoenix is the only thing keeping a lot of the mutants here. Her, or some other leverage Stryker has. With her powers focussed elsewhere for the time being, we have a little more room to move."

"And how will that help...Oh," she paused as they finally reached their destination, her lips curving into a slow smile as her gaze fell upon the room's one occupant. "I see you have your own method of transportation."

"John's a teleporter," Kayla confirmed, taking a hold of the battered looking mutant's arm as she levered him to his feet, allowing Emma to observe that the white gauze wrapped around his head was also hidden beneath the collar of his shirt. "He can get you out of here."

"Can you travel like this?" The female telepath was dubious, and made no effort to hide out. Things could get messy when a teleporter was not at his best, a fact Shaw had discovered the hard way. On that particular occasion he had proven just how lucky he was that his ability made him invulnerable.

"Yes ma'am," nodding without hesitation, the dark skinned mutant straightened beneath her scrutiny, standing to an attention with a stance that was as close to military as a civilian could come. "I've had worse."

"As have I," she answered smoothly, before directing the conversation towards the next logical topic. "Where are you taking me?"

"John knows the way to your Estate," Kayla interjected, shifting her weight uneasily. "He's taken Phoenix there before."

"And Orez too, no doubt." Emma's statement did little to put the tactile mutant at ease.

"I can get you there safely, ma'am," John broke the uneasy silence, confirming his comrade's diagnosis.

"I don't doubt it," Emma nodded calmly. "But what will I find when I get there?"

"We don't know," Kayla frowned, and it was clear her lack of knowledge on the subject disturbed her. "All I know for sure is that it would be best if you hurried. The future of your friends may depend on you."

"They aren't my friends, sugar," Emma shook her head, ignoring the way the trio exchanged confused glances. "But they are my kind," she corrected, using Stryker's choice of words. "And that makes all the difference. But we can't go directly to the Estate," she continued. "It's too risky when we don't know what's going on there. Besides, I have a better idea..."

**1st Class**

Raven froze as the door before her slid shut with an ominous clang, flinching when the lights in the tunnel flickered once then went out altogether, plunging their small group into complete and utter darkness.

"Raven?" Sean's voice sounded from somewhere to her left, the uncertainty in his tone barely masked. "Did you do that?"

"No," she shook her head, before remembering he could not see her. "Something else is going on here."

"Everyone to the middle of the tunnel!" Alex's voice carried to her from the back of the group, and she heard the quiet shuffling of their charges as they moved to obey. "Hold hands, stay together, and whatever you do don't go near the walls or doors." Footsteps sounded beside her, and the energy infused mutant lightly touched her arm to announce his presence. "We have to prepare for the worst now, Raven," he murmured, in a tone too quiet for the students to overhear. Raven could hear Storm speaking to the others, trying to be reassuring, though it was plain the young girl was terrified herself. "Has Charles contacted you?"

"No." And that worried her, because, if something _was_ going on upstairs, Charles and Hank would both be in the thick of it. "I haven't heard anything."

"We need to keep moving," Riptide's accented voice broke the silence, the wind mutant departing from his usual, mute state. "Someone is behind us."

"How can you tell?" Sean demanded, but any response Riptide might have made was forestalled by a deep, grinding sound that seemed to come from all around them, the ground beneath their feet trembling in tandem with the growing noise.

"Move back from the door," Alex was taking charge again, herding them all away from the sealed exit with his arms, before spinning about to face the barrier between them and freedom. One of many barriers, actually, if all the other doors had been closed ahead of them as well.

"I thought Hank made those doors blast proof..." warned Sean doubtfully, but Alex merely snorted.

"Blast proof isn't Alex proof. Besides, I'd rather _not_ wait to see what's making that noise."

**1st Class**

Moira screamed as James swerved, the car nearly colliding with the traffic traveling in the opposite direction, then swinging the other way and just barely avoiding a clean nose dive into the ditch running alongside the road, before James finally regained enough composure to think to slam on the breaks, throwing them both forward against their safety belts. As soon as the car had come to a complete stop, the young doctor twisted in his seat, his face pale with fear and leftover vestiges of panic.

"John, what the _hell_ are you _doing_?"

"Sorry, Doc." The addressed youth, who had somehow managed to miraculously materialize in the back seat of their vehicle, merely gave a shrug, before waving his hand in the direction of his companion. "It was her idea."

"Emma!" Moira gave a start, chiding herself for not having noticed the female telepath, though, to be fair, she had been somewhat preoccupied by the fact she had just narrowly avoided being in a wreck. "How did you...?"

"It's a long story, sugar." Emma leaned in between the two front seats, sparing James a brief, evaluative gaze, before turning back to the CIA agent. "Where were you going?"

"The mansion," Moira replied at once, having had time to regain her bearings. "To warn them." She wasn't sure how much Emma knew, but, by the brisk nod the blond woman gave, she guessed it was as much as, if not more than, she herself.

"You're too late, honey," the female telepath replied. "And walking into a trap."

"They're after the mutants, though," Moira protested. "And they don't know we're coming. If we can get inside without being seen we can help."

"How?" Emma was relentless, her icy blue eyes boring into Moira's own. "What can _we_ do, _any _of us? If the enemy is already inside, if they have managed to breach every fail-safe we put in place, what difference are the four of us going to make?"

"We can do _something_," Moira insisted, desperate not to be made as useless as she already felt. All her hopes had lain in being able to warn Charles in time, in being able to stop this assault before it even began, or at least get the inhabitants of the Estate to safety before Stryker came bearing down on it. But if Emma was telling the truth, and, really, she had no reason to lie, then those options were already gone, and, injured as she was, there wasn't a great deal she could do to help if it turned into a battle. "We can help with the evacuation, if nothing else."

"They have Erik, Agent McTaggert." Emma's words froze her in place, her blood running cold as the full enormity of that statement sunk into her mind. "There isn't likely to _be_ an evacuation."

"Well, what to _you_ suggest, then?" she demanded, desperation turning to anger as her calm abandoned her, leaving her feeling desolate and bereft. There had never been a time before now when she had wished for Charles' comforting presence more, and _knowing_ that he was at the heart of all this, most likely fighting for his life even now, made his absence all the more painful. "We can't just let him get away with this!"

"I have a plan," Emma's response was smooth and instant, the female telepath's steely composure more of an asset now than anything else they had at hand. "But we need the Professor first."

"But Charles is..."

"I know," Emma cut her off before she could go any further. "Azazel and Erik are there too. We can't do anything about Erik right now, the enemy's mental hold is too strong for any one of us to break it alone, but Azazel and Charles are both needed."

"You teleported here," Moira pointed out. "Can't you just get them out the same way?"

"John's injured, and the drugs Stryker gave him won't have worn off yet," James broke his silence to point out the flaw in that suggestion. "It was a small miracle you two managed to get here at all."

"That's why we chose the shorter distance," Emma explained impatiently. "You were closer."

"So how do we get them out, if we can't teleport in?" Despair was worming its way back into her thoughts now, but she pushed it to the back of her mind, determined not to let it interfere with her decisions.

"We only need one of them," Emma stated simply. "If we can reach the Professor, he can break the hold on Azazel and have him teleport to our position."

Moira blinked, frowning. "Why can't you do that?"

"I don't have his range." It pained the female telepath to admit as much, that was clear to see, but she continued too swiftly for Moira to comment. "I'd need to be close, too close."

"Phoenix's attention will be focussed on the Estate," James uttered quietly beside her. "Anyone setting foot on the grounds will fall within the sphere of her control. She can't put all her attention on more than a few people at a time, but it would be enough to stop us."

"So we're right back where we started, then." Raising her good hand to knead her forehead, Moira forced her swirling thoughts to still, trying to bring order to the chaos of her mind. She was used to making split second decisions in the field, but this was a far cry from her days as a CIA agent, and she really had no idea what she was doing.

"Is there any way at all we can break the connection she has with Erik?" She doubted it, but the question had to be asked.

"Unless the Professor is using Cerebro, no, I do not believe so, and doing so would be incredibly dangerous for them both," Emma shook her head. "Pitting that much mental power against a force of equal strength would be like waging a battle inside Erik's mind. It's unlikely he'd survive the encounter. If we're to break the hold safely, it'll need to be done by both of us, _without_ Cerebro's amplification."

"And shutting down Stryker's Cerebro will kill Phoenix," Moira nodded, clinging to her newly enforced sense of calm. "We need to avoid that, if we can."

"It won't kill her," Emma spoke up, and Moira jerked her attention back to the female telepath. "Not if we time it right. We discussed it before I came here," she waved a hand in John's general direction, and Moira guessed Kayla had been involved in that debate. "If every connection Stryker's telepath has with anyone outside the facility is removed and she is put to sleep it will be safe to destroy the machine."

"And you think you can do that?" James queried.

"To fully control someone with Erik's mental strength takes a great deal of concentration," explained Emma. "She would have had to restrict her influence to those within his immediate proximity. With all her powers focussed in such a small area, rather than across a large portion of the country, it's safe to assume no one outside of the Estate is still connected to her mind."

"So if we free Erik..." Moira began.

"It will be safe for Kayla to put her to sleep," John made his own contribution to the conversation. "And Freddie can go ahead with his plans to destroy Cerebro, and everything related to that machine. Without it, Stryker won't be able to control Phoenix, and _she_ won't be able to control us."

"What about the serum?" It was a good plan, and possibly the only chance they had to make a significant amount of damage in a single, fell swoop, but there was still a lot of danger involved for the mutants within the facility. "Most of the mutants within that facility are still under its affect. Their powers, their _independence_, are both gone. Even if Phoenix is out of commission, you won't be able to leave. Anyone whose not under the serum's control will be stopped by those who are."

"We know that," the young teleporter met her worried gaze evenly, and she could see the fire of determination burning in his own. "It's a sacrifice we're willing to make."

"But Kayla said..." She could still remember the tactile telepath's steadfast refusal to raise a hand to help them, the young woman so desperate to be free, but held back by her own obligation to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. What had changed? Then her gaze shifted to Emma, and understanding dawned upon her. "What did you _do_?"

"I didn't force her to do it, sugar, if that's what you mean," Emma rebuffed her accusation coolly. "I merely forced her to reconsider her viewpoint."

"How?" If it had been Charles, she would have believed Kayla had been talked around, but with Emma there was no way of knowing to what lengths she would go to achieve her own goals.

"Phoenix' reach is infinite," the female telepath shrugged. "Kayla was protecting those _within_ the facility, but she failed to consider the consequences for those _without_ if its boundaries."

"Emily," James breathed, then, catching Moira's eye, explaining, "Kayla's little sister. She was in Stryker's hands for a few days, but I managed to smuggle her out. He hasn't been able to find her again since, but with Phoenix attached to that machine, I suppose it was only a matter of time."

"_Phoenix _using the machine wasn't going to make a difference," Emma shook her head. "It was what would happen if Stryker succeeded that would endanger every free mutant in the world."

"What does she mean?" Moira turned to James, only to find the young doctor avoiding her gaze. "James?"

"She means the only reason Stryker went through so much effort to infiltrate your resistance without using a frontal assault is because he considered one of your members an asset," he explained with a sigh, turning to meet her gaze at last, his apology written in his own. "He couldn't risk damaging the goods before he'd had a chance to use them."

"_Charles_..." Moira felt the blood drain away from her face, the world spinning around her for one, terrible, horrifying moment as _everything_ finally fell into place with sickening clarity. "Dear God...Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"It wouldn't have made any difference," he answered her simply. "We would have been too late either way."

"We're _not_ too late!" she snapped back furiously, whirling around to face Emma. "There must be a way to stop this! There _has_ to be! _Do_ _something_."

Emma jerked away from her, sitting bolt upright in the back of their car, her eyes glazed and unfocussed. Moira paused uncertainly, sure she had not been the cause of that reaction, a supposition that was proven correct when the female telepath started back to reality.

"Perhaps you are right," she stated enigmatically. "It would seem Stryker has made a mistake after all." Turning to James she added, "Drive."

"Sure." Starting the engine without further prompting, James eased the car back out onto the road., "Anywhere in particular you want to go?"

"The Sanctum," Emma's eyes met Moira's in the rear vision mirror. "We've just been given a second chance."

**1st Class**

The doors to Stryker's Cerebro were locked. Or..._had_ been locked, before Frederick applied the full force of his superhuman strength to their surprisingly flimsy frame, all but ripping them off their hinges. That done, the muscular mutant chose to plant himself in the doorway, forming a physical barrier for anyone who might come along, providing Kayla with the privacy she needed to carry out her appointed task.

She had never actually been inside the machine itself before, any glimpses she had had of its interior taken from the observation room running alongside it, though the lack of glass between herself and its contents did not help set her at ease. She _hated_ this thing, and everything it was capable of, and that hatred boiled to the forefront of her mind now, mingling with the fear and doubt clawing at her resolve, and creating a festering, swelling mass of emotion. She couldn't control it, _any_ of it, and her hesitance much have shown on her face, because Fred's deep rumble broke the stillness.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

_Was_ she sure? No. No she wasn't. Not sure at all. It probably _wasn't_ a good idea, in fact it most likely superseded the very definition of 'bad idea' and went right on its merry way to the complete opposite of anything wise or _good_. But, good idea or not, this was the _right_ thing to do, and she had hesitated far too long before making the decision that had brought her to the here and now. She should have done this a long time ago, as soon as she knew what Stryker was about, but she had let fear hold her back, a misplaced sense of obligation to the mutants in this facility, the foolish hope she could actually _protect_ them.

But she couldn't.

She realized that now, in fact she had known it far longer than she wished to acknowledge. She had known and denied it and tried to find another way because she didn't _want_ to be the one who sealed all their fates. She didn't want to be the one who made the decision that cost their lives. She didn't _want_ to be a martyr. She just wanted to be normal, Kayla Silverfox, the young woman with a dream to become a teacher, a guide for the young minds of the future, not the one who stole their lives away before they had a chance to shine. But she _couldn't _protect them, and trying to was the biggest mistake she had ever made in her heartbreakingly short life.

"We can't save ourselves, Freddie," she answered him softly, blinking back the tears in her eyes, knowing some had escaped despite her best efforts to stay strong. "We _can't_ save ourselves, but we _can_ save_ them. _We can be the difference between freedom and imprisonment, between life and death, between _Stryker _and life without him. We can_ make_ a difference, and that..."

She paused, turning to face him, her resolve shining in her eyes.

"_That _is something worth dying for."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **Howdy all! I'm beginning to think I should put a standing apology on this fic for the amount of time between updates lately, but I digress. I tried something new in this chapter, a quick change of POV, mostly to help move the plot along towards the ending of this arc and the beginning of the next (if I ever get around to writing an Act III that is). Hopefully, the change isn't too jarring or distracting, oh, and, as with Doctor James Black, all these 'OCs' have aliases, they have just been shamelessly poached from their true 'worlds' by yours truly.

Happy reading!

**Quote: **"Do the thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain."-**Mark Twaine**

**/Chapter 17\**

**-Breathe-**

"Well, now! Pick me up and knock me sideways, but that's a big mess. And here I was thinking it was going to be a quiet weekend...More fool me, I guess."

Stepping cautiously over the shards of broken glass that littered the carpeted floor, where the windows had been literally _blown_ inwards, Detective Nicholas Reeve tilted his head in his partner's direction, acknowledging the less than elegant statement, but otherwise keeping his eyes focussed on the carnage displayed before him. It certainly wasn't the way _he_ had expected to spend his weekend either, or even how he would have preferred to _start _it, but this was hardly an investigation that could be put off until a later date. It wasn't every day someone reported a fire fight in a Las Vegas club, though such arguments were not unheard of, he was pretty sure the damage around them had been caused by more than just a monetary dispute. What had once been one of the more upper class clubs of the district had been literally torn apart, and, unfortunately, it was not the only casualty.

The fact this wasn't the first scene of this kind he'd attended this week just made it worse.

"Looks like a bomb went off in this place," his companion commented darkly, moving to stand beside him at the edge of the balcony and looking down into the mire of smoke and debris below. "Hellfire Club, huh? Sure looks like it. You think they do this on a regular basis to liven things up a little?"

Daniel Pyke was the senior investigator of their partnership, but the man had a flair for the dramatic that didn't exactly do wonders for his professionalism. The more volatile the situation they walked into, the more off the wall his statements got. Fortunately for them both, there weren't any bad guys in close range to react to his often less than appreciated theatrical bent this time, leaving Nick relatively certain he wasn't going to have to dodge bullets because someone objected to his partner's sense of humor.

"Dan, Nick, get down here!"

Unless it was their Captain firing the gun, of course.

The loud bellow from below alerted them both to the fact their presence had been noted, and Nick immediately moved to obey his superior's command, Dan following close on his heels as he took the steps two at a time. The air was still thick with smoke from the blaze that had very nearly destroyed whatever evidence remained behind, but, oddly enough, someone had taken the time to put it out before leaving, and the damage was minimal, thus giving both men a full view of the destruction that had been wrought by the individuals responsible. Several officers were already drifting around the crime scene, taking notes and sketches, and, for the moment, Sergeant Decker's bulky frame was obscuring the body of their victim from sight.

"I hope you two didn't have any plans for the weekend." Ben Miller, the precinct captain, was scowling darkly at their surroundings, his usually dour face further darkened by the scene laid out before them. Ben was what Dan referred to as a 'humorless unfunny', and Nick wasn't touching that definition with a barge pole. "Because you're canceling them if you did."

Dan heaved a melodramatic sigh at what they had both known was coming the moment they received the callout, but Nick ignored his partner's dramatics with practiced ease, simply nodding once in acknowledgement, knowing Ben would rely on him to maintain some semblance of order throughout their investigation.

Honestly, the man was a closet optimist.

Shaking his head to dispose of that errant thought, _you're rubbing off on me, Dan_, Nick refocussed his attention on the case. "We have an ID on the girl yet?"

"Angel Salvadore, aged 23," Ben inclined his head, all crisp facts and comme il faut officer. "She manages..._managed _this place. According to the club's records she's only been in charge for the last few months, hired by the club's owner." He consulted his notebook, still scowling. "A Miss Mema Torfs, most likely an alias, seeing as we can't seem to find her. Has no family to speak of, no next of kin, and no record of having worked in Vegas prior to her employment here. Buck is seeing what he can find, and I've told him to report back to you two once he's done, but, in all honesty, I doubt he's going to be able to dig up much. For all we know, our vic's name might not even be her real one."

"So a bunch of guys with big guns march into a high class club and gun down the manager, a young lass whose hardly been here long enough to ruffle anybody's feathers, then leave without even taking anything?" Dan raised an eyebrow. "What the hell is going on in this town? Are we hosting a Wild West convention or something?"

"Captain, we've got wings!"

Rising abruptly to move away from the limp body splayed across the floor, Decker, who had been sketching the scene, waved a hand at the trio, beckoning them to join him. It was only once they were closer, however, that Nick could see what the sergeant meant, and Dan let out a long, low whistle.

"Well," he muttered. "Looks like someone has a vendetta against the tooth fairy."

Nick grimaced, crouching beside the still form concealed beneath one of the upturned tables. She had been hit multiple times, and the wings that were half hidden beneath her body were shredded in places, the twisted way she lay suggesting she had taken a fairly significant fall. They had gunned her out of the air, then, and finished the job once she couldn't run away. Ruthless, merciless, and entirely violent. He had seen these methods before, and he was not liking the emerging pattern.

"Mutant, huh?" the Captain shook his head, choosing, wisely, to disregard Dan's less than helpful contribution. "Another one, that's just great. We're going to have the CIA bunting in on this next. Might just let them have it, too. I've got enough on my plate without dealing with this mess."

"For all we know the CIA is _responsible_," Nick replied quickly, unwilling to see things swing that way, because he may be new, but he knew _exactly_ how well the CIA would investigate these incidents if his theory was correct. Rising swiftly, he swung about to face the other two men. "Come on, don't tell me you weren't thinking the same thing. Three similar incidents in as many days? I can't think of anyone else who would have the firepower and the resources to pull this off."

"Could be a guerilla group," Dan suggested, though it was clear he didn't really believe his own words. "Nobody's too fond of these guys at the moment. In fact, whoever did this probably just did the government at large a favor. Hey, maybe we should put up posters. 'Did you kill these mutants? Because, if so, guess what? The president wants to give you a freakin' medal!'"

"Cut the crap, Pyke," Ben snapped shortly, turning his intent stare onto the younger detective. "He has a point. It _could_ be vigilantes."

"It's not the usual vigilante style." Nick pointed out. "There's only one victim each time, which means these guys know when their targets are alone and how to get to them. Mutants aren't dumb, Captain, whatever else they might be, and they certainly don't go around flaunting their mutations in front of everyone, not now. I don't think a guerilla group would have the resources to find these people, they _know_ how to hide, otherwise _we'd_ know who they are. Besides, regardless of who they're exterminating, this kind of unauthorized operation is liable to get them a one way ticket to a life behind bars, and your usual mercenary knows that they need to operate below the radar. Excessive firepower isn't the best way to go unnoticed."

Ben frowned thoughtfully, "Maybe they were expecting more resistance?"

"Yeah, maybe," Nick ran his eyes across the scene one last time, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Let's see if forensics turn up anything before we go jumping to conclusions either way. If what's left over here matches our last two crime scenes, then I think the CIA line bears investigating."

"As if they're going to admit to anything," Dan gave a snort. "They run their operations wherever and whenever the hell they want. It's not going to matter to them if we have a few unsolved murders laying around the place."

"It might matter to them if we find irrefutable proof they were involved," Nick countered instantly. "Mutants may be the new enemy of the state, but a lot of people aren't going to be happy with the way this situation is being handled. There's already enough talk about the government snagging kids off the street without adding this to the rumor mill."

"I know_ I'm_ not happy," Ben growled darkly, snapping his notebook shut and slamming it forcefully into his coat pocket. "The CIA should clean up their own bloody mess, and stop wasting our time. We've got enough additional work thanks to their damned mutant vendetta without adding a killing spree to the mix. You two get this thing sorted, and sorted fast."

"Will do, Captain," Dan offered his departing commander a brief wave, then turned to Nick with a sigh. "Sheesh! I hope I never get called to another scene with the Cap' in attendance. Man needs some happy fuel."

"Happy...?" Nick started incredulously, before raising a hand to cover his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. "You know what? Never mind. It's too early in the morning for translating."

"Everything is lost in translation anyhow," Dan nodded sagely. "Speaking of which, I'd better start trolling through some of this evidence. Care to join me?"

"Actually, I'm going to canvass the neighborhood, see if anybody heard anything, or whether the people next door lost their hearing some time last night." Nick grinned at Dan's crestfallen expression. "After that, I'm going to check in with the Mavs, see if they know anything about the owner or the manager that we don't."

"The good ol' informant network, huh," Dan glanced around the devastation with a disheartened look. "One of these days you're going to have to introduce me to these Mavericks of yours."

"Maybe,"Nick cocked his head to the side in a considering gesture. "I'm not sure you'd like them, or that they'd like you."

"_Somebody _certainly didn't like this gal," Dan remarked soberly, as the pair made for the stairs and the comparatively fresh air of the world outside. "You really think the CIA just marched into Vegas with guns blazing to kill a few mutants?"

"You don't check the news much, do you?" Nick eyed his partner dubiously. "There have been similar incidents in Florida, Washington, Colorado, and Texas, not to mention elsewhere in Nevada, and that's to name a few. Not all killed the same way, granted, but mutants, taken out one by one, professional hit-man style. Now, you could say that's all because of people getting up-in-arms about this mutant issue, but, honestly, when are there ever that many coincidences?"

Dan paused midstride, considering his point, before giving a slight shrug, "Seems a little late to be going on a killing spree, don't it?"

"Unless they're only targeting the key players." He had taken the time to consider all this before airing it aloud, and Nick was certain he was right. "They're taking out the leaders, Dan, scattering the minions. It's always easier to take down a lone wolf than it is a pack."

"You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?" Dan sounded mildly impressed, but, as they stepped out of the club and back into the street, Nick merely gave a grim nod.

"I had to. Like the Captain said, we're the ones who have to clean up the mess."

**1st Class**

"You people have a _bunker_?" James' face was twisted into a strange mixture of astonishment, incredulity, and admiration, though Moira didn't have time to address any of them, turning to Emma the moment the blond woman stepped from the car.

"Why are we here?"

Emma merely stared at her a moment, before replying blandly, as though the answer should have been obvious. "To retrieve the Professor."

"Charles is _here_?" Moira whirled to stare at the deceptively grassy hilltop before her, starting when Emma stalked past her, already on her way to the hidden entrance.

"Of course he's here," she shot over her shoulder. "Why else would _we _be?"

Biting back the retort that sprung to mind, Moira beckoned for James and John to follow her, taking note of the fact the young doctor was lingering conspicuously close to the teleporter's side, as if expecting him to keel over at any moment. John, for his part, was concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, and not dropping the mysterious bundle he had slung over one shoulder. Her gaze focussed behind her, the former CIA agent almost collided with Emma at the top, the female telepath frozen in place, a disconcerted frown marking her normally still features.

"What is it?" Moira knew trouble when she saw it, and she had no doubt whatever Emma's telepathic abilities were telling her was not good news.

"It's nothing." Shaking herself, Emma adopted a tranquil expression once more, but her eyes were troubled. "The entrance is here," kneeling, she reached for a hidden trigger, then paused, turning to James with a glare. "If you inform _anyone_ of what we have here, I will personally insure your death is a painful one."

James merely grinned,"Sweetheart, the glare alone would have been sufficient."

Snorting in disapproval, Emma pressed down on the hidden panel beneath the grass, waiting only long enough for the door to slide open, revealing the smooth metal of the stairs beneath its covering, before leading the way below.

**1st Class**

"The noise has stopped."

Raven paused in her herding of the children through Alex's latest work of art, freezing in place as she tilted her head to listen, though, as Sean had pointed out, there was nothing to hear now. The tunnels had gone silent, and the sudden stillness after the adrenaline fueled flight of a moment before was disconcerting.

"Do you think we lost them?" The sonic mutant did not raise his voice above a whisper, but his words still echoed noisily around them, and Raven saw him wince at the same time as she flinched.

"I don't know," she hissed back, turning to see Alex and Riptide had also paused at the next door, hesitant to burn their way through when the light might reveal their position. "How much further?"

Alex held up three fingers, and Raven bit her lip, spinning back around to stare at the yawning opening through which they had just passed. There was a chance their pursuers had given up, a slim, almost nonexistent chance, but the more likely possibility was that they had reached the first of the doors Alex had been forced to destroy to facilitate their escape. If that were the case, they would no longer need to smash their way through, hence their now silent pursuit. She hoped for the former eventuality, but, if it were the latter, they would not have time to break their way through another three doors.

"Sean, try the hatch."

Nodding in obedience, the sonic mutant leapt onto the ladder leading to the porthole above them, shoving on the metal lid, before shaking his head. "Locked, the same as all the others."

Dropping back down to the floor, he lurked nervously at her shoulder. "What now, Raven?"

"Alex." She was proud of how steady her voice sounded, even though her heart was thrumming with terror in her chest, and any light right now would have revealed her pale and shaking form. "Burn through the hatch."

"We're not outside the Estate yet," Alex frowned. "Are you sure?"

"We're not going to make it out." There was a chance they were no longer being followed, but not a great enough chance to make a difference. They _needed_ to get out, and they needed to get out _now_. "Riptide and I will go back and see if we can slow whoever is coming down. Alex and Sean, get them out of here."

"Raven," Alex stepped forward at once, the voice of disagreement. "We can't split up. The Professor said..."

"Charles isn't here!" she snapped back furiously, with more vehemence than she had intended. Charles _wasn't_ here, and that knowledge was burning a hole of worry in her mind that was growing harder and harder to ignore by the minute. "_I_ am. Just do as I ask, Alex. We'll meet up with you outside."

Alex snapped his mouth shut, jaw set in clear disapproval, but he did not argue further, turning his attention instead to the hatch that would lead them out onto the Estate grounds. Once sure he would not follow her, Raven darted down the corridor, Riptide a step behind her, moving silently in the darkness. They passed through several of the burned doors without seeing sight nor sound of pursuit, and Raven had just begun to hope that maybe she _had_ been wrong when she nearly collided with a black clad figure in the darkness. Only Riptide's quick reflexes saved her, as the wind mutant tugged her back through the opening and behind the remains of the door a moment before the armed soldier opened fire.

**1st Class**

Glass, it turned out, was surprisingly resilient, and Charles was under no illusions as to who had come out the better off in that particular confrontation. He had tried everything he could think of to make the walls shatter, without even the smallest margin of success, and, when a solution had finally presented itself to him, it had been so simple he had barely been able to restrain laughter he was not at all sure would have been anything less than hysterical.

Shaw's room on the submarine had had a sliding door, something without hinges, without fault. His prototype was not as sturdy, and, after numerous attempts to break the walls, Charles had realized his only avenue of escape lay in the door itself. There was no way to open it from this side, but, by leaning his full weight against it, he had been able to create the smallest of slivers along the hinge line. It had taken all his strength to hold the door there long enough to send a desperate message to the only person likely to pick up a signal that faint, and he had no way of knowing whether or not Emma had received his missive, or, if she had, whether she was in any position to _respond_ to it, but he had done all he could, and there was nothing left to do now but wait.

Alone.

In a room full of mirrors.

If he ever escaped this place..._when_ he escaped this place, he was never going to be able to look at a mirror the same way again. In all likelihood, he had gained himself a new set of nightmares to enjoy after this situation was resolved. _When_ it was resolved. _If_ it was resolved.

This room was doing very little for his optimism, he thought dejectedly, slumped against the cool glass of one of the infuriatingly durable walls, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped about them as firmly as he could manage so he didn't have to watch his hands shake. It was difficult to believe he had faced so many things in the last twelve months without blinking an eye, and yet a simple room had the capability to instill pure and uncontrollable terror in his mind.

Resting his forehead on his knees, he closed his eyes and desperately fought to gain some sense of equilibrium. His violent need to contact someone had kept him occupied for the better part of his imprisonment here, but, with nothing else to do but wait, the emptiness around him was pressing in on him once again, and it was all he could do to ward off the unrestrained panic that had gripped him when Erik first shut the door.

When _Erik_ shut the door.

He had wanted to believe the metal bender had escaped Stryker's trap, that Erik's reckless haste had not cost them everything, and that his own decision to send Erik away had not robbed him of the chance to talk the magnetic mutant out of such an unsafe venture. He had wanted to believe the ultimatum he had served to ward off further casualties was not another mistake, the cause of even more pain, but he knew if Erik had still been in the mansion, if Charles himself had still been near enough to make a difference, all of this might never have happened. He had inadvertently given Stryker the opportunity he needed, and Stryker had not hesitated to take it.

What he did not understand, however, was why he had been allowed to live. He had not been reading Erik's mind in the mansion, habit now, so he would never have been prepared for any strike against his person, unwilling to believe, even when confronted with all evidence to the contrary, that the metal bender would ever harm him. Erik _could_ have killed him. Stryker could have easily ordered him to do so, but instead he had locked him in here, in this perfectly designed prison, to wait the whole thing out.

Why?

The question haunted him, and he shied away from the possible answers his mind so readily conjured, well aware they would offer him no comfort, and certainly no way out of his current predicament.

Tensing abruptly as the sound of muffled voices reached him, he rose swiftly to his feet, grasping at the wall as the sudden change in position induced an unpleasant wave of vertigo, before straightening, his eyes set on the door, and his whole body taut as he waited expectantly, still desperately hoping for the best, but, if needs be, prepared for the worst.

**1st Class**

It was only as the door swung open, the light reflecting off the mirrors in the room beyond momentarily blinding her, that Moira realized the reason Charles was here, and not in the mansion. That realization came with a wave of both anger and fear, and she brushed past Emma in her haste to reassure herself that Charles was indeed here, alive and unharmed. She was assured of the former the moment she set foot in the room, but the latter remained in doubt, for, though he attempted to move forward and greet her with a smile, he had barely made it a half step when he faltered, swaying unsteadily. Moving forward on instinct, Moira caught him before his knees could give out beneath him, bracing herself so he did not pull them both to the floor, and giving him the moment he so clearly needed to regain his bearings.

"Charles?" She was unable to completely mask the fear behind that nervous inquiry, and he responded to it in typical Charles' fashion.

"I'm okay."

His voice was muffled, his face still pressed against her shoulder, and she could feel the tremors running through his frame as clearly as if they were her own, both factors nullifying any merit those two words might otherwise have possessed. But the normality of his answer went a long way towards setting her still buzzing nerves at ease, and she was in the midst of breathing a sigh of relief when Emma's sharp voice reminded her they were not alone.

"Pull yourself together."

The order was brisk and beyond argument, and Charles reacted instantly, shifting away from Moira to support his own weight as he ran a hand through his hair in a doomed effort to smooth it back into place, turning slowly to face the female telepath.

"Emma," he acknowledged her presence with a curt nod, then his gaze traveled beyond her to the somewhat bewildered pair lingering in the doorway. "Your friends, Moira?"

"Yes." There wasn't time for introductions right now, she sensed that, and so she settled for the monosyllabic answer, turning, as Charles did, back to Emma, knowing the female telepath was the only one with any idea of how they might escape this trap they had so blindly stumbled into.

"We need Azazel," Emma stated simply. "I can't reach him."

Charles nodded, moving a hand towards his temple, but Emma reacted before he could complete the movement.

"No." Her fingers curled around his wrist, her grasp much stronger than her slight frame suggested, forcefully tugging his fingers away from his temple. "You don't need that. Using a medium just restricts your focus."

Charles frowned, "But I…"

"You don't need it," Emma persisted unbendingly. "A telepath's powers are meant to be _controlled_, not _constrained_. Stop holding yourself back. Stop restricting your focus. Stop pretending you are anything less than what you are. You either trust yourself to do this, or we all die."

The telepath remained frozen, locked in a staring match with Emma, who clearly had no intentions of backing down, refusing to release her hold on his arm. Moira watched them both, holding her breath, then, realizing the stalemate was not going to reach any sort of resolution on its own, she broke her silence.

"Charles?" He turned to look at her, a flash of something akin to fear flickering briefly in his eyes, before it was hidden away where she could not see it. "We don't have much time. The children haven't made it out..."

"You promised them safety," Emma added firmly, finally releasing her grip. "To protect them no matter the cost. Did you lie?"

Charles averted his gaze from them both, his hands clenched at his sides. Moira merely watched him, knowing she was witnessing some inner struggle, and equally aware of her own helplessness. This, whatever _this_ was, was not something she could solve. Instead she waited expectantly for something to happen, for something to change, but nobody moved, nobody spoke, and nothing happened.

Until a soft pop broke the stillness, and Azazel's red reflection appeared in the mirror.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: See. See? Seeseesee? I _can_ post on time! :D**

**These two chapters are a little bit iffy, or, at least, seem it to me, but hopefully none of the reactions portrayed here are too far beyond belief. **

**Enjoy the cliffhanger! **

**Quote: **"At the end of the day, man, you can't protect yourself from a haymaker that's coming in toward your face if you don't see it coming."-**Busta Rhymes**

**/Chapter 18\**

**-Live-**

It seemed an eternity before the assault stopped, the echoes of each individual bullet bouncing off the metal walls for several moments after the initial noise ceased, before even that sound evaporated into complete silence. Crouched in the corner behind the remains of the door, her hands over her head and Riptide using his own body as a shield around her, Raven held her breath in the ensuing quiet, her heart thudding loudly in her chest as she waited for a reaction, for movement from the other side of the material blocking their enemy from view as surely as it was hiding them. Riptide was similarly still above her, but she could feel the tension thrumming in the air between them as they both prepared themselves for whatever might step through the door.

When it came, it was hardly what either of them expected.

The sudden growl was a mingled sound of warning and sheer, animalistic rage, drawing several cries of fear and alarm as those who had once been on the attack now turned to defense. There was a definitive thud against the tunnel wall, followed by several more, and, exchanging a look of alarm with Riptide, Raven shot to her feet, edging around the cover the door provided to see what was occurring beyond its burnt remains.

"Hank!"

The beast mutant was in full rage mode, his features twisted with more anger than she had ever seen on his face as he flung their attackers aside one after another. Even his superhuman strength could not make him invulnerable, however, and the black clad figures were far more numerous than they, swarming down the corridor in even greater numbers now that they realized they had a physical enemy to fight. Without thinking, Raven plunged in amongst the chaos, fighting her way towards Hank, who was quickly becoming overwhelmed, aware of Riptide's reassuring presence at her shoulder as the wind mutant used his abilities to keep the enemies around them at bay. There wasn't much he could do down here without harming them as well, but it was enough to get them to Hank's side, the three of them forming a circle in the center of the tunnel, standing back to back, all eyes focussed outwards.

Their assailants paused now, maintaining a careful distance that kept them well out of Hank's reach, but still close enough to cause damage if they chose to fire. Raven kept a wary eye on their weapons, wondering who would break beneath the strain first, but the silence was broken, not by the sound of a gunshot, but instead spoken words.

"_Very _impressive." A mock applause accompanied the uttered statement, and Raven twisted her head slightly to view the speaker, whilst still keeping a watchful eye on the soldiers nearest to her. She didn't think they would risk firing whilst this man, their leader, apparently, was in their presence, but that presumption was not a certainty she would gamble her life upon. "I must say you put up a good fight," the man continued. "But it's over now."

"According to who?" Hank shot back. "You haven't won this fight yet!"

"Oh, I beg to differ," shaking his head in amusement, the man took a step closer, the smile upon his features one of dark, twisted triumph. "You might try resisting further, of course, you might even succeed in making your escape, but, before you go making any _hasty_ decisions, I would suggest pausing a moment to consider just how great a bearing your actions will have upon the treatment I render upon your leader."

"Hank?" Raven turned to the beast mutant in a panic, receiving only a slight shake of his head in return. That alone was enough to tell her the words being thrown at them were not a bluff, and she turned to the stranger in fury. "Don't you dare!"

"Miss Raven Xavier, I presume?" Smirking, their antagonist waved a hand dismissively. "Worry not, my dear, your brother is perfectly safe. Whether or not he _remains _that way, however, is entirely up to you."

"What do you want from us, Stryker?"

Hank placed a restraining hand on her shoulder, stopping her from taking part in the conversation as he leveled a glare in the speaker's direction, giving their enemy a name, though Raven did not think his identity had ever really been in question. William Stryker Junior, for his part, merely smiled, the expression cold, and laced with the malice this man directed at all mutants.

"Your surrender, naturally."

"Actually, sugar, I think you should take your own advice."

Startled, Raven momentarily forgot the weapons being pointed in her direction, swinging about to stare at Emma. The female telepath had appeared in the doorway of the tunnel she and Riptide had recently vacated, standing, with one hand resting on her hip, and staring them all down with her usual look of casual disdain.

"How in the hell did you get here?" Losing his calm beneath the shock of something that had apparently been very much _not_ a part of the plan, Stryker reacted vehemently to Emma's presence.

"Well, how else was I going to unravel your little fantasy of superiority, honey?" Emma shrugged, not moving from her relaxed position in the doorway, wholly unconcerned by the armed soldiers lining the tunnels. And with good reason, Raven realized a moment later, because every one of those soldiers had frozen, with their weapons _lowered_, not even so much as _blinking_. Stryker seemed oblivious to this, however, and continued his rant with all the confidence his back up _should_ have allowed him.

"I took you down once, Frost," he snapped harshly. "It won't be a chore to do it again."

"It might not be a chore, but it certainly wouldn't be amongst the wisest decisions you have made of late."

The interruption did not come from Emma this time, and Raven felt her heart soar with relief as the familiar tone fell upon her ears. Stryker's reaction was far less enthused, however, the CIA agent spinning on his heel to stare down the hallway just as the lights flickered and came back to life, revealing Charles, standing unconcernedly in the middle of the corridor, his hands resting in his pockets, and his blue eyes betraying nothing but supreme confidence. It was only then that Stryker seemed to realize he was at a severe disadvantage, his gaze sweeping quickly across the motionless figures around him, before a sharp curse left his lips.

"It appears," Charles remarked casually. "That your vaccine only works upon those who it was genetically designed for. I could launch into a lengthy explanation as to _why_ it only worked on you and your father, but I think the outcome is of more relevance to you than the reasons for its occurrence right now. So, Mr. S, what will you do now?"

"I could still just shoot you," Stryker threatened, his hand straying towards the half concealed holster at his side. Raven tensed immediately upon seeing the movement, as did the other two mutants still standing alongside her, but Charles merely shrugged.

"You could," he agreed amicably. "But then it would be a toss up between who would avenge my death first. I believe it would be a close tie between Hank and Raven, though, you _have_ annoyed Emma somewhat, so you never know."

"It would be worth it," Stryker snarled in return. "Simply to know _you _were gone."

"Would it?" Charles' expression hardened slightly, his blue eyes shifting to a more steely expression. "Would it really be the better alternative, when you could still walk out of here alive?"

"You'd let me leave?" The doubt in his mind was clear to read on the CIA agent's face, but the telepath did not hesitate in giving his answer.

"Yes."

"Charles!" Raven protested, earning herself a quick head-shake from her brother.

"It isn't a victory if we claim triumph by sinking to the level of our enemy, Raven," he told her simply. "And it won't be a victory for you, either, will it?" he turned back to Stryker. "Because walking away is harder for you than dying honorable for what you consider a noble cause."

"If you let me go, I _will_ come back for you." The threat in those words was clearly audible, and, beside her, Hank growled, his arms growing taut as he clenched his fists. "_All_ of you," Stryker continued, oblivious to the growing anger of his conscious audience. "You won't get away with this!"

"With what?" Charles prompted blankly. "Surviving? Not lying down at your feet in submission waiting for you to put us down? We haven't harmed any of your men, Agent Stryker, they're all still alive. What do you have to blame us for, honestly? _You_ attacked _us_, and we fought back, _that_ is the reality. You can't justify this, because we haven't done anything to earn the hell you rained down upon us."

"It was justified," the man growled in response, his hands still hovering close to his firearm. "What you are gives us every right to kill you."

"Just imagine if we followed the same rules," the telepath smiled in morbid amusement, but it was not an honest gesture. "You wouldn't even be standing here right now, would you, Agent Stryker? Now, _I'm_ giving you a choice, but the others here have free will, and they can choose to follow my lead or not. Whilst I feel fairly confident in saying they will not harm you, the possibility they _will_ grows more likely with each minute you remain here, threatening both me and the people I protect. You _can_ walk away, and we will not stop you from doing so, but, if that _is_ your choice, you leave the gun behind."

Stryker hesitated, his pride warring with his natural desire to live, hatred struggling against fear, and Raven waited with baited breath for him to either surrender, or go for the gun his fingers were mere millimeters away from.

"My men?" The question was voiced softly, but insistently, the first sign of concern Stryker had shown for those men he had led into battle, just another reason for Raven to allow her disgust at this individual who passed for a human being to grow.

"Will not be harmed," Charles responded levelly. "You may return for them within twenty four hours, but you _will_ leave without them."

"And how do I know I won't be walking back into a trap?"

"You don't _have_ to come back," Raven pointed out heatedly, tired of the man's stalling. "Let them find their own way back to their master like the loyal dogs they are if you're too much of a coward to return for them."

Stryker cast her a look of intense hatred, then slowly, each movement carefully exaggerated, he unbuckled his gun and tossed it aside, glowering defiantly at Charles as he did so. The telepath merely gave a nod of acknowledgement, before pointing down the corridor the way Raven had sent Alex and the children.

"Leave that way," he directed firmly. "And don't try to come back. Your immunity won't stand if you do."

Stryker sneered derisively, but said nothing more, turning stiffly and marching with equally rigid movements away from the watching assembly. Finding himself confronted with an unmoving Emma, he hesitated, eyeing the female mutant warily.

"Don't worry, sugar," Emma smiled at him in a predatory fashion. "I've got more important things to deal with tonight than you." Patting his cheek lightly, she ignored the way he flinched away from her, and the deathly scowl he pointed in her direction. "I'll repay you for your kindness later."

Stepping smoothly aside, she gestured with one hand for him to continue. With no other avenue open to him, the CIA agent did so, with bared teeth and a glance over his shoulder filled with such pure loathing it was all Raven could do to suppress a shiver. Watching him leave, she waited until she was sure he was gone, then, turning around, she flung herself at Charles, enclosing him in an embrace that was far gentler than the one she had thrust upon him earlier that day.

"Don't you _ever_ scare me like that again," she whispered brokenly, the fear she had held at bay up until now leaking into her words and her limbs, her arms trembling slightly as they clung to her brother. "I thought...I thought..."

"I know. I'm sorry, Raven." His response was gentle, and he did not try to pull away from her hold, despite knowing as well as she did that their time was still limited. Instead he gave her the minutes she needed to pull herself together, waiting until _she_ stepped back before shifting from older brother to leader.

"It's good to see you, Professor," Hank murmured, encouraging the shift to a more battle ready mindset. "After Erik..."

"Erik is here?" Raven started in surprise, all the more so when Charles' face darkened.

"He is," he confirmed succinctly. "And we need to deal with that next. Raven, you, Hank, and Riptide need to get to the surface. Take the Blackbird and get yourselves to the Sanctum, the pathway to the hangar-bay should be clear now."

"Charles," Raven let the warning sound clearly in her tone. "I'm not leaving without you."

"You need to, Raven," he met her gaze firmly, blue eyes holding that hint of steel he hid so well beneath his normally congenial nature. "This isn't a battle you can partake in."

"I can fight!" she protested earnestly, earning herself a fond smile, and a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"If I ever had any doubts on that count, you would have proved yourself today, Raven, but that isn't what I meant." Expanding his gaze to encompass them all, Charles explained, "Stryker's plan has been foiled for the time being, he won't come back, not whilst he's beaten, there's too much of a coward in him for that, but Erik isn't being controlled by Stryker."

Hank gave a low growl, realization striking him at the same time as it did Raven. "The telepath."

"Phoenix," Charles corrected gently. "She's an innocent in all this, but a dangerous one. Stryker wanted her to use Erik to trap you down here, and he almost succeeded, but Phoenix wasn't quite the loyal follower he thought she was."

"What do you mean?" Worried in earnest now, Raven anxiously awaited his answer.

"I think she's turned Erik on what's left of Stryker's men," Charles' face was grim. "Stryker's vaccine doesn't _work_, per se, but it is limiting what I can do from a distance. I can't stop them from advancing from here, and, if I don't do something about that relatively quickly, Erik is most likely going to kill them all under Phoenix's directive. Emma is slowing him down now, but she's going to need my help."

Raven turned in surprise, not even having noticed the female telepath's absence. Hank, however, kept his focus on Charles.

"What should we do when we get to the Sanctum?" he asked quietly, already resigned to the fact they were going to be leaving Charles behind..._again_.

"Get the children into the lower levels," Charles commanded at once, then, seeing their blank looks, he added, "Azazel took them. I gave him the helmet to make sure Phoenix couldn't interfere. They're all safe, but it's up to you to make sure they remain that way. And be careful, we don't know if Stryker is aware of the Sanctum's location."

"We will be," Hank promised, already taking a hold of Raven's arm to steer her away down the passage. "But only if you promise to do the same."

"I'm always careful," Charles responded with a genuine grin, earning himself a snort of derision from Raven, a desperate attempt on the female mutant's part to restore normality to a world that was swiftly falling apart.

**1st Class**

Emma had not waited to witness the inevitable argument that would arise when Charles gave his predictable order for Raven and her two companions to leave the Estate and the very real danger it still posed to anyone on its grounds, mutant or human. She knew full well they did not have the time to waste that resolving that situation would take, no matter how necessary getting those who could be of no aid out of reach of the enemy telepath was. Removing the threat Stryker posed had been their first priority, without a doubt. The man had been threatening the lives of fellow mutants, and, whether she actually liked said mutants or not was irrelevant in the face of the principle of the thing, but, now that his presence had been safely dealt with, even if not in a manner she entirely approved of, Erik took precedence.

Everything hinged now on breaking the connection between Erik and Stryker's telepath. So long as Erik remained beneath Phoenix's control Kayla would not severe the connection, and, unless Stryker's Cerebro was destroyed before he returned to the facility, all this would have been for nothing. Granted, the journey would take hours without Azazel's teleporting to aid him along, but there was no guarantee Stryker would not find a way to contact other personnel who were closer, and there was the man's father to consider. Nobody knew where Stryker Senior was at the present time, and Emma did not want to be surprised when they found out. Time was of the essence, and, even if she was not as strong as Charles, she could begin what he would be needed to finish.

Leaving the underground tunnels at a brisk run, she barely had time to react to the flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, before an unseen enemy struck her a glancing blow, the force of the unexpected tackle practically _flinging_ her across the room to crash against the opposite wall. Rolling to the side to avoid the large painting that clattered to the floor as a result of her impact, she reacted out of instinct, lashing out at the burly, masked soldier with her telepathy, only to freeze in disbelieving horror when her thoughts struck a solid wall. The man's mind was there, just within reach, but blurred beyond recognition and comprehension, to the point where it was impossible for her to detect a clear target to manipulate.

So, Stryker's vaccine was _not_ wholly ineffective, then.

Her surprise rendered her unable to react to his follow up attack, and she bit back a cry of pain as she was lifted by the fabric of her shirt and thrown relentlessly against the wall, her wounded shoulder protesting against the rough treatment with enough vehemence to make her head spin. She couldn't think, couldn't focus enough to force the transformation into her diamond form, where this brute would not be able to harm her, and the way his fingers were now closing about her neck was too reminiscent of Erik's own methods of interrogation for her to not draw the parallels. Struggling fitfully, she kicked out against her assailant, but the motion was weak, her strength swiftly dying as her lungs were robbed of the oxygen she so desperately needed.

Groping blindly, her hand landed upon a statuette set upon a pedestal against the wall, no doubt a priceless relic, but right now serving just as well as a weapon. Bringing the makeshift club down on her enemy's head with all the force she could muster Emma heard it impact with a satisfying thud, the muscular figure stumbling back with a surprised moan, and giving her a brief moment to regain her feet. Even that was not enough, however, for her assailant lunged forward before she had a chance to do more than catch her breath, seizing a hold of her wounded shoulder and squeezing with all his might.

Emma screamed, unable to hold back the sound of pure agony his actions invoked as she staggered, the pain making her vision swim. Regaining his chokehold, the soldier shoved her up against the wall, the sadistic light in his eyes reminding her of Stryker, except this was something far more feral, unrestrained by the pretense of civility Stryker still clung to. This man would not stop until he was unconscious or dead, and she did not have the strength left in her to fight him. That realization made her desperate, and she fought in his grip, trying, with wild fury, to free herself, all to no avail.

Her vision was starting to black out about the edges when the gunshot sounded, the figure holding her in place jerking once, before dropping to the floor like a dead weight. Stunned by her sudden release, she slid down the wall to sit limply on the floor, gasping for air and trying to hold back the coughs of protest her body tried to produce. Ignoring her momentary weakness as well as she could manage, she forced her head upright, dismissing the swell of dizziness that echoed that motion as her eyes sought and found Moira's steady expression. The former CIA agent was standing in a ready stance, her body placed carefully between the source of the threat and James, whose wide eyed stare remained fixed upon her back. She lowered her weapon only once she seemed certain all present dangers had been eliminated, a soft huff of breath leaving her body with the motion.

"A timely intervention, Agent McTaggert," Emma remarked coolly, scrabbling for her composure as she drew herself slowly to her feet, trying not to notice the way her voice still sounded as hoarse as though she were recovering from a terrible cold. Moira, for her part, merely gave a tight smile.

"Yeah, well, you looked like you could use a hand." Jerking her head towards the open library door, she made her report, "Erik's in there, and about half of Stryker's assault force are lining up on the lawns outside. Things are about to get ugly."

"Stay outside." Emma was already moving for the doorway before Moira had even finished speaking, pulling herself together with the same swiftness she had demanded from Charles earlier. There was no time for falling apart in battle, that was a lesson Shaw had taught her well, and she was not going to let a minor lapse influence her present performance. "You'll only be a distraction if you come in."

"Understood," Moira answered her officially, resuming her post outside the door, and, steeling herself for what was to come, Emma lifted her head high and strode inside.

**A/N2: No, not _that_ cliffhanger.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N3: _This _cliffhanger.**

**Quote: **"Do not be misled by what you see around you, or be influenced by what you see. You live in a world which is a playground of illusion, full of false paths, false values and false ideals. But you are not part of that world."-**Sai Baba**

**/Chapter 19\**

**-Dream No More-**

The gates were not new.

Metal, tall, spiked, and barbed, they looked more suited to the impenetrable walls of a prison camp than the picturesque Estate whose boundaries they guarded, the savageness of their edges lending a dark feeling to otherwise idyllic surroundings, like a glaring blemish upon the landscape, upon the very soul of this place. They had not been here last time he traversed this drive, and their presence, so wholly unexpected, had dampened the contentment he felt upon returning home.

They should not be here, his mind insisted. They should not exist here, now, in this time. Not those gates. Gates of barbed wire that had bent beneath his will. Gates that symbolized a loss of freedom and the beginning of a nightmare he was still fighting so desperately to forget. Gates that had introduced him to a man so devoid of any good his ghost still haunted his victims, even now. They shouldn't be here, but they were, and no amount of mental willpower was making them vanish.

He sat still in the car for a long while, letting the engine run idly beneath him, studying every intricate detail of the barrier before him, and ignoring the other presence seated mere inches away. The girl, auburn haired, pale, and as dangerous as becoming caught unprepared in an unexpected, icy blizzard, did not seem to belong here, her vibrant colors clashing with the dullness of their surroundings, like a colored chess piece in the middle of a black and white board. Her presence was jarring, but not distracting, for she did not comment on his hesitation, or interrupt his reverie, her eyes roving over the wall with an air of detachment he could not match.

For, where she saw only precautions, a means of protecting something he cared for, he saw something misplaced, something that shouldn't be here, a symbol of oppression, suffering, and death corrupting a place he thought of as wholesome and good, and the small curl of fear coiling in his stomach was not about to go ignored.

Shutting off the engine with a mere thought, he exited the car without a word, noting, with a brief sense of satisfaction, that his companion had done the same, her face showing nothing, not even curiosity, as they stalked forward, side by side, towards the looming presence. He halted only a step away from their towering mass, one hand reaching out to clench over the smooth, cylindrical metal, before pulling himself forward, gazing in between the bars for the cause of this monstrosity, and seeing nothing but peace beyond its obstruction. Why were they here, then? Walls and gates, missing only the rain and mud they needed to truly become a nightmare, keeping him out and the truth within.

"Something is wrong."

Beside him, the girl spoke, her voice a soft trill in the utter stillness, stillness he now realized was absolute, not even nature daring to make a sound. Turning to her he waited, expecting her to elaborate, but she didn't. Instead she gazed at him, gray eyes empty, face blank, and the tone of her words never changing.

"Something is wrong."

"What..." His voice sounded strange in his own ears, echoing hollowly, as though they were standing in a tunnel, or a cave, not the wide open spaces that truly surrounded them. He struggled for a moment to bring his thoughts to order, batting away the mental fog that had taken up residency inside his mind. "What is it?"

She flickered beside him, her form turning translucent, her face a mask of concentration, as though it took great effort just to remain standing, eyes staring unseeingly through the barred gates before them.

"Something is wrong."

He would have shaken her, had he thought it would do any good, but she wasn't likely to react well to such treatment, and, besides, there were easier ways to overcome this obstacle. Turning away from her and back to the image of his nightmares, he raised a hand, smiling in grim satisfaction as the metal gates bowed to his will, trembling, quaking, and then finally baulking altogether as they swung open...And just as quickly clanged shut again, the distance between him and them stretching and warping, until he no longer stood beside them.

Frowning, he moved forward and repeated the motion of tugging them open, only to have the same thing occur, again, and again, and again. Confusion was now turning to alarm, and, spinning away from the gates, he tried to step towards the walls, only to find that, with each step forward he took, they grew further away, leaving him to stand, worried and bewildered, without the weaponry to confront this new phenomenon.

_Something is wrong_.

"Erik?"

For a brief moment, the bland face beside him changed, the young girl fading into an older, blond woman, a face he expected to be smooth perfection fading into a visage stained with dirt, blood, and, he could scarcely believe it, tears. For a brief second, just a single second, he saw the anguish in gray eyed turned blue, an icy façade so utterly shattered he scarcely recognized her.

Clarity struck him, and he spoke her name.

"Emma?"

"You shouldn't be here." Emma's voice was clear, and it did not waver, no matter how ragged her appearance. But, though she stood, solid and real at his side, her eyes still remained blank, and her surroundings still rejected her, her very presence discordant. "Come back, Erik. You shouldn't be here."

_No_, his mind argued. _No, that is not right. You are _meant_ to be here. _

"The gates won't open," he frowned, ignoring the way Emma stared at him in confusion, unaware of the conversation taking place inside his own mind.

_Leave them_, the voice whispered insistently. _They are the doors protecting those you do not wish to harm. But there are others nearby..._

His surroundings quaked suddenly, trees twisting into deformed, ugly shapes, the ground beneath his feet roiling wildly, and the gates, though miles from where he stood, clanging with a noise great enough to nearly deafen him.

"Erik." Emma drifted closer to him, delicate fingers seizing a firm hold of his sleeve, and refusing to be displaced by the motion about them. The blankness of her face had faded now, and he almost thought he sensed desperation in her voice, but that was impossible. "Erik, _please_. You have to stop now."

"No!" He was not going to be driven away, not from here, and he turned on her with all the fury of that conviction, ignoring the way she recoiled from him. "I have to go, Emma. I have to go before everything is truly lost."

Her expression was pinched, as near uncertain as her visage would ever show, but she did not have time to voice her protest. He felt the flare of power around them as the wildness vanished, along with the gates, the walls, and everything that had once been wrong. He stood in a library now, _the_ library, a half played game of chess set out on the table between a familiar pair of chairs, and a fire burning with cheerful heat within the hearth. Emma shifted uneasily beside him, as discomfited by these surroundings as he had been by those outside, and he turned to follow the line of her sight.

Only to find he couldn't turn away.

Frozen in place he stared at the horror unfolding before him. Dozens upon dozens of shadowy figures, without features or faces by which to identify themselves, were converging on the mansion, creeping slowly along the lawns like an advancing tide. Metal glinted about their persons, and he felt their guns as they turned them upon the house, lining up like a firing squad, waiting only for the order to take lives. But they couldn't, his mind insisted, grappling for a reason, and reeling in shock when it landed upon the answer.

Children.

This place was filled with children. They couldn't...

_They are a threat. They _hurt_ us_. _Don't let them escape._

The first shot rang through the silence with a reverberating echo that vibrated its way through his body, followed swiftly by many others, and he found himself shaking, trembling, trapped between fury and terror. Without pausing to think, he raised a hand, reaching for each and every one of those bullets, intent on throwing them back, just as he had that day in Cuba, back when...

"_This is not the way to peace, my friend_."

"Charles?"

He whirled, frozen bullets thudding to the floor, enemies forgotten as he searched the room in vain for his friend, finding himself alone but for Emma, who was all but clinging to him now, despite the fact she had shifted to her impervious diamond form. Windows shattered around them as more fired slugs found their marks, thudding into the books upon the shelves, so that bound volumes fell to join the shards of glass upon the floor. It was chaotic, and the enemy was still coming, marching now through the spaces they had destroyed, weapons raised, ready to fire upon the only two in sight. Rage filled him again, fury, absolute in its vehemence, and he drew it about him like a cloak, feeding his powers with the strength of the emotion.

"_We have danced this dance before_." They fired, their shots freezing almost as soon as they left the barrels of their weapons, floating in the air before their nameless faces. _They hurt us. Make them pay. _They would have no graves, these monsters, they would die with anonymity, leaving no trace of their pitiful lives behind. "_Rage will not give you the strength to protect what you love. With it, you have only the capability to destroy_."

The entire room was trembling around him now, anything, everything that held the slightest sliver of metal responding to his call, swirling about him, about them, the chaos his powers caused exhilarating in its madness. Let them die. Let them all die, and then they would finally come to see how futile their attempts to destroy those they feared were. They had dared to threaten all he had left in this world, and it was not a mistake that would be forgiven.

_They tried to control us, but we can never be contained_.

None would leave here alive.

"Erik." A hand landed upon his arm, and he was jerked from the mesmerizing pull of his own addictive power, the hypnotic grip of revenge. He stared into the eyes of the man who had appeared beside him, and read in them a sadness that did not belong there. Not now, in this time of triumph. "Please. It does not have to be this way."

"It does, Charles," he insisted, prompted by the insistent voice in his head, by his own anger at these people who had dared threaten his home. Turning away from the telepath, he narrowing his dark gaze at the danger before him. "They came here to kill us. To take the lives of every person in this building, child or not. When they are dead, when they are _all_ dead, peace will come."

"But at what cost?" his friend wondered aloud, removing his hand, and letting it fall limply back to his side. "Look at what you are destroying, Erik."

"I'm eliminating people who would kill us _all_," Erik fired back. "There is no other way. They _deserve_ to die."

"You can't be judge, jury, and executioner, yet still call this justice, Erik," Charles shook his head. "You're taking their lives because you _want_ to, because it is _easier _to kill them than it is to forgive. Because, in the end, it is more natural for you to follow Shaw than me."

Erik faltered, hand still upraised to hold the ammunition headed their way at bay, but his eyes flickering between Charles, at his side, and the transparent image of Shaw that had now joined the fray. His stomach churned at the sight, his head whirling, dizziness and nausea both competing for his attention. Shaking his head, he fought for clarity, blurting the first coherent sentence he could manage to form.

"They're here to _kill_ us, Charles!"

"I know." The telepath's gaze drifted past him, to the shadowy figures apparently frozen outside the window. It occurred to Erik then that their enemies had not moved since firing that second round, and he realized that he was not the only one whose attention was split between their debate and the battle at hand. "They're here to kill because they're afraid, they're scared that our power makes us dangerous, that we might turn on them as we did in Cuba, and kill their loved ones or even they themselves. They're angry because they're scared, because it's easier to feel anger at that which we don't understand than it is to _try_ and identify with it. People can't help what they're afraid of, Erik," switching his focus back to the metal bender, Charles found his gaze and held it. "Fear is a natural reaction, something none of us can change. How we react to our fear, on the other hand, is within the bounds of our control. You should have told me, Erik."

"There was nothing to tell." The words came out choked, though whether by anger, relief, or _terror_ he could not tell.

"Wasn't there?" Charles was looking at Shaw. Not _through_ him, or _past_ him, but _at_ him, and Erik knew suddenly which emotion it was that held him so wholly immobile. "Shaw is dead, Erik, I feel confident I can vouch for that," the smile he offered Erik was pained, with good reason. "Dead, except for the fact he lives on in your mind, because killing him didn't really free you, did it, Erik? Instead it just left a hole, a void, a vulnerability you couldn't and I _wouldn't_ see. Our enemy exploited that weakness, and for that I fear I am just as much to blame as you. I should have seen what was happening long before things got this far."

"I don't understand." His head was positively throbbing now, and the room was warping before his eyes, running through a rainbow of different colors as his vision blacked out around the edges. He was having trouble standing, and his grasp on his power was slipping, the bullets inching forwards, but still too distant to pose any sort of threat.

"Yes, you do," Charles argued. "Shaw is _dead_, Erik, and you're not crazy. There is a reason you can see him, a reason he has been haunting your dreams, prying old wounds apart and leaving you open to manipulation. It's not a coincidence, Erik, none of this is."

Charles was right. Erik _knew_ he was right, and the answer was lingering _right_ there, hanging, just beyond his reach as he grappled for the strength to pull it out of the shadows in which it had chosen to hide itself. But he couldn't...

_No! _The young voice was a deafening shriek inside his head, and without thinking he raised both hands to cover his ears, trying to block out a sound that was emanating from _inside_ his mind. _He is merely trying to distract you. Remember the enemy, remember what they have tried to take from you. They must pay for what they have done!_

Fury filled him again, and he turned, groping for the metal that had fallen when he lost his focus, lifting it, prepared to fling it back at the living statues frozen in place, such easy pickings. But Charles was speaking to him again, speaking _over_ the roar of blood red rage, his words calm and insistent.

"Anger will not help you protect the things you care for," the telepath stated simply. "Rage gives you strength, but at the same time it blinds you. You will not see the danger until it is too late."

Dread formed, making itself at home in the pit of his stomach, and he found himself turning against his will, already knowing what he would see would bring him no joy. Charles stood before him, unarmed, guileless, open gaze readily meeting his own with nothing but the truth.

He stood.

Erik stared.

A gun fired.

He had been too focused on the metal already in the air to sense the additional weapon and the presence wielding it coming at him from the opposite direction. He had not heard the side door to the library open, had not seen the nebulous figure step through it, and he certainly hadn't seen the barrel raised and pointed at his back.

Time crawled to an agonizing halt, his surroundings freezing. Emma, the enemy, even the books still in the progress of descent paused just as they were. He was left with Charles, who merely gazed at him with a sense of compassionate resignation. Calm, as though the world around them was not fraying around the edges, ready to shatter if pushed too hard.

"You already know the truth, Erik. Find it, focus upon it, and let it bring you back. More blood need not be spilt. It does not have to be this way." He made the three steps it took to place himself between Erik and the door, gazing up at the metal bender with serene acceptance. "Unless you make it so."

"Charles, don't...!"

He reached for the telepath, intent on pulling him clear, but the world had restarted before he could even move, and there was nothing he could do but watch as history repeated itself before him, and he was robbed of the one thing he had sworn to protect above all else. Charles lurched forward upon the impact, a look of surprise displacing the peace of a moment before, surprise that quickly drained away into horror as he drew a hand away from his chest covered in blood. He stood still then, staring, uncomprehending, before lifting his gaze with aching slowness to meet Erik's own.

"Erik..." The word was choked, filled with sorrow and agony so clear he nearly staggered under the weight of it. "I am so sorry..."

And in the corner of the room, the ghost of Shaw smiled.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Hiya all. See, I wouldn't leave you guys with a cliffhanger like that and not update for weeks. :-) Anywho, warning first, this chapter may be a little bit rushed. (I'm not sure whether that's just me, or if it really is.) I've fiddled with it a bit, but in the end this is the way it wanted to go, so I just went with the flow.**

**Secondly, in response to a anonymous review, I'd like to explain a few things.**

**To 'Op'-It was mentioned in earlier chapters (those involving Moira and Kayla inside Stryker's facility) that a couple of drugs had been created over the past few months to help facilitate the holding and controlling of mutants. One of these (we'll call it the X-Serum for now) was based off what we saw in X-2, where Stryker used a serum to help him control mutants. The X-Serum was applied to any/all mutants and lasted for, let's say about twenty-four hours per dose. The X-Serum suppressed a mutant's abilities, whether that be super strength, shape changing, or even telepathy, so that they could not use them, thereby making them less dangerous to handle. **

**However, whilst extremely useful, this serum was not practical when Stryker wanted to use mutant powers against other mutants, and therefore an alternative was sought. This alternative eventuated in a 'vaccine', which, upon being administered, permanently protected whomever was vaccinated against becoming 'infected' by any abilities granted to a mutant by their X-Gene. Unlike the X-Serum, however, the vaccine had been in existence for a much shorter time prior to its application, and hadn't undergone as much testing. As it was designed specifically for Stryker SNR and Stryker JNR, it was most effective on them, whereas, for the soldiers, who were not the intended genetic recipients, it had a very small success rate, much like the hit and miss of many real vaccination programs. Unfortunately for Stryker, there wasn't an opportunity to test the vaccine before it was used in the field, hence his, as my younger brother likes to say, 'epic fail'. **

**As the vaccine was successful when administered to Stryker (Or Mr.S, as I've used to differentiate) in protecting him against mutant abilities, he was impervious to anything Charles might otherwise have been able to do to him, such as wiping his mind or adjusting his thought patterns. If that had been possible, Phoenix would have most likely ripped his mind to shreds a long time ago, _before _he put her in his Cerebro. Killing him was really the only thing any of the mutants could have done, and that's not a solution Charles (or my incarnation of him) is ever likely to pick if there is an alternative.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing, your feedback is always welcome and appreciated.**

**Cheerio,**

**Cheekyrox.**

**Quote: **"One enemy can do more hurt than ten friends can do good."-**Jonathan Swift**

**/Chapter 20\**

**-Waking Nightmare-**

The gunshot was deafening, hurling him back into awareness with a start that set all his nerves buzzing at once. For a moment he hesitated, wondering how it was possible to have fallen asleep whilst standing, but that thought lasted only a second, wrenched from his grasp by a sudden cry of pain that sent fear careening through his mind in its place. As the room he stood in jerked back into focus, he was assaulted by a dozen different images all at once, and he struggled to catalogue them all.

Emma, leaping between him and the figure standing in the doorway, her diamond form shimmering shrilly as she moved. Orez, a gun in his hand, dark eyes glinting with steely determination, standing his ground despite the overwhelming odds against him. Moira stumbling in through the door, her wrist bandaged, and..._wait_, _Moira_?...and another man close on her heels. The black clad figures outside dropping like puppets with their strings cut, some even falling prone in the empty window frames, their weapons rendered useless as their owners grew still. He saw each and every event as it occurred, but only one registered in his mind. Only one, for, lying on the floor at his feet, one hand pressed against his chest in a desperate attempt to stop the flow of blood, was Charles.

"Charles!"

The panicked cry came from Moira as she ran across the room, dropping to her knees beside the struggling telepath, ignoring the shards of glass ready to slice through the fabric of her clothes and enter fragile skin. Erik watched, unable to move, unable to even comprehend what was happening, as the former CIA agent tore her jacket off, balling it up and pressing down on the concealed wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. It was only as Charles gave another sharp whimper of pain that reality smacked into him with full force, and he staggered back a moment, before whirling on the cause of all this. His anger rising, he stepped towards Orez, only to feel a hand close about his ankle.

"_Don't_, Erik."

Glancing down, he found familiar, blue eyes focussed on his own, glazed over with pain and something closely resembling exhaustion, but reflecting their owner's determination nonetheless. His response, however effected he was by that look, was instinctive, and he could not stop the words that flew from his lips.

"He _shot_ you!"

"Not his fault," Charles was gasping now, turning his head from side to side in a weak motion. His face had lost all color, and Erik found his anger fading a little beneath an overwhelming tide of concern. The telepath was still bleeding, despite the large volume of blood already on the floor, and Moira's frantic attempts to stem the tide. "St-Stryker is resp..."

He couldn't finish the sentence, choking again, in earnest this time, and Erik was alarmed to see blood on the telepath's hand when the coughing fit passed and he dropped it, exhausted, to his side.

"_Please, Erik_."

The mental plea was faint, barely audible, but it was enough to cage the last vestiges of anger within the carefully erected cell he had created for just such a purpose. Shoving that rage into the back of his mind where it could not interfere with his decisions, Erik simply gave a curt nod, turning to Emma, because, though Charles might have argued otherwise, the fourteen year old mutant still pointing a gun at them all was dangerous, a threat that needed to be removed.

"Wipe his mind."

Emma nodded, a hint of something close to pleasure flashing across her features at his sanctification of something he normally despised, but Erik didn't have time to deal with the female telepath's moods right now, swinging his attention back to Charles, and nearly unleashing his anger once again when he found a stranger kneeling alongside Moira. The CIA agent must have seen that uncurling anger, however, for she was on her feet in an instant, placing herself between Erik and the unknown.

"Wait, Erik! James is a doctor." Her stance was a mix between hostile and protective, as if she meant to hold him at bay through pure willpower alone, and he had to admire her courage in putting herself between him and his goal. "Just let him do his job."

He gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement, shifting around her so he could watch the man at work, his mind running over the most recent events in his mind as he tried to put the pieces of what had happened together. His memory was a blank slate from the time he had entered the mutant facility in Canada right up to the moment Orez had fired that shot, and he was trying, with all his might, to ignore just how much that unsettled him. The wounded man lying on the floor gasping for breath was going a good way towards distracting him from that fact, but there were other things that could not be ignored, no matter how critical the situation, and, having something to focus on meant he could veer his mind away from taking his anger out on the unconscious forms draped liberally across the Estate grounds.

He wondered if Stryker was one of them.

"Moira." She jerked slightly, her eyes flitting away from the doctor and back up to his face. "Raven and the others?"

"They got out safely," she nodded, seeming relieved by the fact he had thought to ask about them, though Erik could not have guessed why. "We gave Azazel the helmet and had him teleport them out. They should be safely within the Sanctum by now, with strict orders not to come back."

It was just as well Azazel was the only route in or out, then, Erik thought grimly, for Raven would never have stayed behind otherwise. Bobbing his head slightly in acknowledgement, he turned to Emma, only to find that the female telepath had shifted back to her human form and was now standing on the rim of their small circle, flanked by a dark skinned youth who looked even more battered than Moira. Over her shoulder, Erik could just make out the vague lump that was Orez, deposited without ceremony on the floor, joining the debris already liberally scattered about the room.

_What happened?_

"Moira," James' voice broke the reverent silence, and there was no hiding the distinct note of panic within that one word, repressed only by professionalism as the young man shifted his weight back onto his heels, crouching at Charles' side. "I've done all I can, but the bleeding is still pretty severe, and I think its internal. There doesn't seem to be an exit wound." Glancing up, he traded swift glances with each of them in turn, before deciding on Moira as his point of focus. "He's going to need surgery."

"So then, do what needs to be done," Erik retorted bluntly, his body buzzing with the need to _do_ something, _anything_ besides standing here and watching his best friend bleed out onto the floor. Charles eyes were closed now, his face twisted into an expression of agony, hands clenched at his sides as he gulped shallowly for each breath. Erik had seen enough bullet wounds to know Orez's shot had at least clipped a lung, and things weren't getting any better the longer they waited.

James, however, simply shook his head. "I _can't_."

"You're a doctor!" He was having trouble keeping his anger caged, and he stepped forward, looming menacingly over the younger man. To give him his due credit, the man did not back away, maintaining his position at his patient's side, hands pressed to Moira's now thoroughly soaked jacket as he met Erik's glare eye to eye.

"Yes," he responded calmly, but firmly. "Yes, I _am_ a doctor, but I'm _not_ a bloody surgeon, and this is not a hospital. I'd need equipment, the right medical supplies, a sterilized environment, and even then I don't have the proper training for something like this."

"We can't go to a hospital, James," Moira pleaded, interjecting before Erik could unleash a good deal of his frustration on someone who was most likely an innocent party. "Please, is there any other way?"

"I do _know_ someone who might be able to help us," James offered, eyeing Erik warily even as he spoke. "A trained surgeon. He was a tutor at the medical school I attended."

"And what?" Erik snapped heatedly. "He'd willingly help us, out of the goodness of his heart?"

James ignored him, much to his chagrin, keeping his attention on Moira. "He's the one who took in Emily," he explained. "He keeps a private surgery in Las Vegas."

"And how do you propose we get there, sugar?" Emma interjected.

"John." It took Erik a moment to realize James was addressing the other stranger in the room, the young man flanking Emma, who now stepped forward readily. "Do you think you can manage a journey of that distance?"

"I'm as clear headed as I'll ever be, Doc," the youth offered, with something resembling, but not quite, confidence. "Someone just needs to show me the way."

"I can do that," Emma was already moving forward, preparing to pluck the knowledge from James' mind and transfer it to John's. It was Moira who gave them another reason to delay.

"What about Orez?" she demanded, even as she moved in closer to be able to touch the mutant Erik assumed was a teleporter of some kind.

"Leave him," he answered curtly, ignoring the slight hiss of protest that left the amazingly-still-conscious telepath. "We'll come back." Turning then to John, and praying he was not making a mistake by trusting Moira's new 'friends', he gave a curt nod.

"Go."

**1st Class**

"Hank?"

"Yes, Raven?"

"I have a bad feeling."

"Yeah...Me too, Raven, me too."

**1st Class**

At any other time, Moira might have been amused by the sheer vehemence with which James was pounding down his friend's back door, conveniently ignoring the fact it was well past any hour one might consider decent, and the fact said friend's neighbors were not all _that_ distant. They had chosen to approach the private surgery from the back, but, even with the darkness cloaking their advance, there was only so much noise one could make before _somebody_ came to see what it was about. Right now, however, with Charles propped upright between herself and Emma, barely breathing as John and Erik mutely kept watch, she was in no mood to see the humor in this situation, much less in the response the young doctor received.

"Alright, alright! Stop beating down the bloody door! I swear, if this is..." The door swung open, the frame of light briefly blinding Moira, who had become accustomed to the semi-darkness, before her eyes adjusted enough to see the lean, middle aged man whose silhouette blocked a good portion of that light, the sharp scowl on his face softening only a little when he recognized one of the crowd on his doorstep. "Dammit, James! What have I told you about calling in the middle of the night?"

"Sorry, Lenny, but it's an emergency. We kinda need a surgeon right now."

"'Kinda need'...?" His eyes drifting past James, the surgeon's gaze came to rest on Charles, brown eyes widening in something resembling shock, though there was too much resignation in there for it to be genuine surprise. "Bloody hell, James, what have you been _doing_?" Not waiting for a response, he gestured for them to follow him inside. "This way, quickly now. Last thing I need is for my neighbors to report this."

Stumbling along with the dead weight between them, Moira and Emma followed the surgeon down the corridor and into the first room on the left, easing a barely conscious Charles down onto the table, and stepping back to allow the man access. Moira nearly bumped into Erik upon doing so, unsurprised to find the metal bender had followed them, but somewhat discomfited by the lack of space between them. Seeing him as he had been, beneath Phoenix' control...she shuddered, her mind shying away from that memory, though the present was hardly an better.

'Lenny' had torn away their makeshift bandaging, and was currently examining the wound, his face even darker than it had been when he opened the door, small hisses of either disapproval or annoyance escaping his lips as he completed his examination, before turning to James.

"Am I to assume this couldn't be done in a hospital?" When James did not reply, he swept his gaze across the rest of those present, a sigh preceding his next words. "Mutants, then. Bloody hell..." Before any of them could react, or deny his eerily correct assumption, he continued, "Right then, James, I'm going to need you, so scrub up. The rest of you get out," he waved his arms at them in a shooing fashion, then, when Erik looked fit to argue, he simply pinned the metal bender with a surprisingly intimidating glare. "Out, if you want him to live."

Unable to argue with that, the small crowd poured into the hallway outside, the door shutting firmly behind them. Uncertain as to what else to do, Moira shifted to take up a post against the wall opposite, leaning back against the welcome support as she tried not to consider how tired she was. Adrenaline had been all that was keeping her going up until this point, and now that there was nothing to do but wait she could feel exhaustion creeping in, her eyes closing against her will, only to jerk open again when a young voice split the stillness.

"Johnny!"

Swinging her head around in the direction of the cry, Moira was startled to see a young girl of no more than eight years barreling down the hallway towards them, throwing herself on the stunned teleporter with a joyous cry that was half muffled when she pressed her face into the fabric of his shirt.

"E-Emily." Momentarily flabbergasted, John recovered swiftly, swinging the girl up into his arms with a well concealed wince. "Hey there, little gal!"

"Where have you _been_?" The question was petulant, the pout that accompanied it even more so. "You _promised_ to visit."

"Yeah, yeah I guess I did," John offered apologetically. "But, you see..."

"Where's Kayla?" Moira couldn't help but freeze at that question, recognition kicking in with a suddenness that was cruel, because she _knew_ who this girl was now, and she knew also the fate that had most likely befallen her sister. Swallowing back tears, she watched as John faltered, before plastering a smile back across his face and replying confidently.

"Kayla misses you terribly, but has to look after the other children not lucky enough to get fancy dresses like this." Poking at the floral nightgown the girl was wearing, he pulled a face. "Pink, Emily? _Really_?"

"Kayla _likes_ pink!" Emily retorted sharply, giving him a light slap on the shoulder.

"Erp! My bad," shaking his head in apology, John gave a strained grin, trying to change the subject. "So, how does the princess like her new quarters?"

"Lenny is nice," Emily reported happily. "But Uncle Jimmy doesn't come by much, like you," she added accusingly, before proceeding, "Not like Nick."

"Nick?" John frowned, perturbed. "Whose Nick?"

"You'll see, if you stay," Emily responded quickly, her young face bright with excitement as she wriggled enough to let him know she wanted to stand on her own two feet. That done, she peered past him at the exhausted assembly lining the hallway, her bright, blue eyes traveling briefly to the door outside which they were spread, before her young face wrinkled with concern. "Is someone hurt?"

"Yeah, Em," John nodded soberly. "Someone is. Lenny is looking after him now, and so is Uncle Jimmy."

"Lenny always fixes the hurt ones," Emily confided sagely, before grabbing a hold of John's wrist and attempting to tug him along. "Come with me," she ordered, throwing her words at all of them. "Lenny likes people to wait in this room."

Exchanging a glance with Erik, who merely shrugged his indifference, or perhaps his clear intention of _not_ moving, Moira chose to follow, willing to make use of the distraction Emily was so readily offering. She didn't need to think about what was taking place beyond that door right now, didn't need to think of Charles' limp body splayed across the operating table as he fought for his life, so, shoving the overwhelming sense of worry lodged in her mind aside, she allowed her curiosity as to how the girl had come to be in Lenny's care to take the forefront, wanting to know more beyond the bare details James had offered her on their flight from Stryker's facility.

Emily led them through into a small room clearly designed to service the loved ones of those who used the clinic, a comfortable number of couches taking up most of the space, with a small coffee table set in the middle. Emily happily led John over to one of the sofas, dropping down onto it lightly, before waiting for the rest of them to join her. Once they were all seated, silence fell, and Moira felt quite comfortable in breaking it.

"How did she come to be here?" she directed her question at John, nodding slightly in Emily's direction, the young girl now happily engaged in rearranging the fake flowers set on the center of the table.

"James got her out," John responded softly, the tone of his voice one of quiet gratitude. "She was the youngest to be brought in. She was with Kayla when they found her, and I honestly think Stryker thought he had hit the jackpot. We were all pretty terrified of what might happen to her."

"So James helped you?" Moira started slightly at the question, because Erik was the one asking it, leaning against the doorframe with an unreadable expression on his face. She was surprised the metal bender had left his former post, but maybe he had realized the futility of lingering where he could do no good.

"Yeah, he did," John nodded, unperturbed. "Kayla and him came up with a plan together, something that wouldn't throw suspicion on either of them. Then, when the time came, and we actually managed to get her out, the Doc made sure she had somewhere safe to go. At the time he just said the guy was a friend who might be able to help out. We didn't know who he was, where he lived, or what his reaction to sheltering mutants might be, but we didn't have a choice at the time, so we just went along with it. In the end, well, you saw Lenny," he shrugged, without words to express his thoughts. "The guy's a grouch at the best of times, but he's a good sort. It worked out." Giving Erik a searching glance, he added insightfully, "They'll do their best to help your friend, Mr. Lensherr, you can trust them."

"I don't trust anybody," Erik answered him calmly, but flatly. "Not until they've earned it."

"Maybe that's you're problem, sugar," Emma took the opportunity chance left open to her, though Erik merely shot her a dark glance, turning his attention to Moira as he struggled to give voice to whatever question she could see lingering now in his eyes.

"What..." he hesitated, and she had never seen him so uncertain. "What _happened_, Moira?"

What indeed? Moira threw a telling look at John, who, quickly understanding her intentions, gathered Emily up in his arms and headed for the door.

"Come on, you," he chided good naturedly. "I'm pretty sure you're meant to be in bed."

Emily's arguments on that count faded as the pair left the room, followed closely by Emma, much to Moira's disappointment, because she had hoped the female telepath might help with the explanation, some of which she did not even understand herself. As it was, however, she was left only with Erik, and, mustering what remained of her energy, she waved him towards a chair, waiting until he was comfortably settled before taking a deep breath, and starting from the very beginning.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: So, a couple of things for this chapter...**

**1. Usually, I'm not a large advocate of OC usage. I like my canon characters, and I prefer to use them, and ONLY them, if I can. Unfortunately, having only ever watched the movies, I'm limited in the number of characters I have to choose from here, so I've had to make do with some 'guest characters' from other fandoms of mine. James Black, Leonard Carter, and Nicholas Reeve are the only three likely to have a semi-important role, and that role is mostly just to push the plot along. I'm hoping my using them isn't going to put anybody off. Like always, I just went with what my muse dictated, but if it does put you off, all I can do is thank you for reading this far. :D**

**2. The medical facts stated in this chapter were taken from a writing site with advice on how such injuries were treated. I can't remember the exact name of the site, seeing as I looked this up before this story was even originally written, but I did do my research. Regardless of that fact, there are BOUND to be mistakes, so, yeah, if your a medically inclined person and you see them, pretend you are BLIND! Or correct me, either works for me.**

**Quote: **"The first question which the priest and the Levite asked was: "If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?" But... the good Samaritan reversed the question: "If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?"-**Martin Luther King, Jr**

**/Chapter 21\**

**-Unseen Friends-**

By the time Moira had finished her explanation and lapsed back into silence midnight had long since passed, the night drawing closer towards morning with each soft 'tick' of the clock hanging on the wall, mocking the severity of the situation with the cheerful monotony of time. Erik focussed on the constant sound, seeking a grounding point, trying to still the whirling mass of thoughts that had now gathered in his mind. He could feel Moira's anxious gaze resting on him, the former agent making no effort to hide the fact she _was_ concerned, but right now he couldn't summon the energy or the anger to brush her off, too lost in the confusing swirl of his own thoughts to deal with someone else's.

"Erik." Her voice was deliberately gentle, and, when he jerked his gaze up from the carpeted floor to meet her stare, he found that same softness reflected in her brown eyes. "You are not to blame for this, no more than anyone else is. We were outmatched, our every move anticipated, and what Stryker could not guess Orez happily told him. The only people to blame for this are the ones giving the orders, not the ones who followed them because they didn't have a choice, and certainly not us...not _you_."

She was trying to acquit him of blame, to lift the veil of guilt she knew had fallen the moment the whole story was revealed, but Erik could not accept her assurances as to his blamelessness in this, because he _had_ made mistakes, and each mistake he had made had been another opportunity for the enemy. He had let himself be manipulated, knowingly and unknowingly, endangering the very people he was trying to protect through his own stubbornness. Moira could tell him it was not his fault all she liked, but, the reality was, he was at least partly responsible for _all_ of this.

_You should have told me_.

Shunting that thought away, _before_ it could begin another downwards spiral into the many things he did not want to consider right now, Erik rose to his feet, beginning to pace back and forth across the confines of the small waiting room. Moira watched him for a few moments, before leaning back against the back of the couch and closing her eyes wearily. Considering all that had happened recently, Erik could not blame her for that state of exhaustion, knowing the only thing stopping him from experiencing a similar crash was the fact his mind was far too active to settle right now, and the debilitating headache currently taking up a permanent residence inside his skull was not helping matters in the slightest.

Having a mental war waged inside your mind was, it turned out, far from pleasant.

"What happened to Stryker?"

Moira jerked upright at the unexpected question, raising her unbound hand to rub the sleep from her eyes, before turning her gaze to rest upon him. "What?"

"Stryker," he elucidated patiently, stilling in the middle of the room. "You said Charles went after him before he came after me. What happened to him?"

"I don't know," Moira frowned, looking slightly perturbed. "There wasn't time for them to tell me. I don't think he's dead, though."

"So they let him walk free?" He allowed his skepticism and disapproval to show, even though he already knew the answer to his own question. Of course they had, because Charles could never bring himself to do what needed to be done. Emma, though, might be more amenable to suggestions of that sort. "_Without_ wiping his mind?"

"The vaccine prevented it," Moira reminded him. "We were lucky it didn't work as well as Stryker had planned, or else things might have ended differently, and not in a good way."

"Then they should have killed him." Leaving any able enemy, who certainly wasn't going to look on any act of mercy as a reason to back off, capable of mounting another attack was a tactical error of massive proportions. Letting him walk away had been a mistake. But then, a lot of things that had happened over the past week had been nothing _but_ mistakes, was one more really that much of a surprise?

"His father is still out there," the former CIA agent spoke up quietly. "Killing his son wouldn't have been a good way of convincing him of the error of his ways. We escaped, Erik, we got _away_, and only one life was lost on their side, a life _I_ took. Isn't that better than the alternative?"

"What about _our_ side?" he turned on her. "What about Charles? What about the dozens of mutants who are now going to face Stryker's wrath because he was allowed to go free? That girl who helped you? Kayla? Do you _really_ think Stryker is going to let her live once he finds out what she has done? And the telepath, the _child_ he used to do all this, do you honestly believe there's going to be any happy ending for her? For any of them?"

"And you think _killing_ him would have changed that?" Moira fired back, her eyes flashing angrily. "His father is just as capable of doing all those things as he is, and killing his son would have been a surefire way of making them suffer. It didn't matter either way, Erik, we weren't ever going to be able to help the mutants in that facility. We were fighting for our own survival, we didn't have a choice, and even surrendering wouldn't have freed them. The only thing we could have hoped to achieve is to make their lot worse, and, by letting Stryker walk, we know we've done everything we can to try and _not_ give him more reason to hurt them. It was a no-win situation, someone was always going to lose."

There was no lie in her words, but the truth brought him no comfort. Knowing there was _nothing_ he could have done to change what had occurred should have helped ease his guilt, should have told him his actions had not been the sole factor that determined the end outcome, but being helpless was hardly better than making an error of judgement when he was able to change what was unfolding around him. He had fought all his life to have that one thing, to have _control_, and now it was slipping away from him before he even had a chance to truly grasp it.

There was someone else, though, who would be even more affected by their inability to make a difference to the mutants in Stryker's hands, and Erik felt his stomach turn uncomfortably as he turned back to Moira. "Does Charles know?"

"About Kayla and the others?" her face darkened. "No. We didn't have time to explain everything. He'd figured out the truth about Phoenix by himself, but, as to the rest of it...he doesn't know." She paused a moment, picking at the bandages on her wrist, before chancing a glance up at him. "It will be devastating for him."

Knowing innocents had died in order to insure their survival? Yeah, he imagined it would be, and he wasn't looking forward to the moment when someone, most likely himself, would have to unveil that sordid truth. Charles counted the lives of his _enemies_ as indispensable, to know other mutants, little more than children, really, had willingly sacrificed themselves to Stryker in order to protect those who should have been protecting _them_, well, Erik supposed he should just be grateful he might have the chance to deliver that terrible blow. As it was, he might not even _have_ to tell the telepath, and that thought was far more terrifying than the alternative.

Raising a hand to rub at his brow, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself, to find his center, to ignore every crumbling foundation of the home he had tried to build here. It would take so very little to send that dream tumbling into oblivion right now, but he would not be the one to tear up his roots this time, not unless he was given no other choice.

The soft tread of unfamiliar footsteps in the carpeted hallway had him jerking his eyes open again, stiffening as a strange voice floated into the room in advance of its owner.

"Hey, Len, the back door was open so I...Oh, hello." Pausing in the doorway upon catching sight of them, the young newcomer did a sort of double-take, gray eyes appraising them both in a single glance, before deciding on Moira as the best source of information. "Is Len here?"

"He's in surgery," Moira offered cautiously, exchanging a glance with Erik that was both warning and question. Erik scarcely noticed, however, his attention fixated on the decidedly _metal_ sidearm strapped to the man's belt, and the increasingly disturbing fact he could not _sense_ it. It was metal, he could _see_ it was metal, but the material did not call out to him as it should have, as if it was not even _there_.

"At this hour of the morning?" Moira chose to treat that question as a rhetorical one, not that it seemed to dissuade the stranger, who merely shrugged. "Huh, I guess I'll wait, then."

"You know the doctor?" Moira was fishing, still casting Erik sidelong looks in the hopes of some verbal support, but Erik was too busy glaring at the man and his weapon to pay her any mind.

"In a manner of speaking," was the offhand response. "Len gets some pretty interesting cases through the clinic, especially at night, when he's the only one here."

"And you would be one of those cases?" Erik did not bother to hide his suspicion as he looked the man up and down in a single glance, still searching for an excuse to do something more than just stand and talk. He had heeded Moira's unspoken warning both out of a grudging respect for the former CIA agent and his own immobilizing shock at not being able to 'touch' the gun strapped to the man's side, but he hadn't made any promises, and, if this stranger chose to make himself a threat, Erik would not be made responsible for his reaction.

"Not quite," gray eyes flashed with something akin to amusement. "I believe I'm something of a perpetual nuisance to him, not that he's a shining example of friendly congeniality either. Although, given how many people he's stuck back together without being paid for it, I guess you can't blame the guy for being a bit of a grouch." He paused, briefly, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, before stepping the conversation up a level. "So, what happened to you?"

His question was directed at Moira, and the bandage on her wrist, as well as the fading scar visible beneath her hairline, but Erik made a point of being the one who answered it, positioning himself between the newcomer and Moira.

"I don't think that's really any of your business." His tone was low, the threat in it explicitly implied, though all it earned him was a raking scrutiny from intent, gray eyes.

"I'm not your enemy, you know," the man remarked conversationally. "I could be, if I wanted to, but I'm not." Reaching for his sidearm, he removed the holster from his belt, holding it out without removing the gun from its vessel. "Hold onto this for me, would you?"

Erik tilted his head in Moira's direction, giving her the barest of nods when she glanced at him questioningly. Rising, she moved forward to take the weapon, leaving Erik free to watch the stranger for even the slightest suspicious movement. The young man didn't move, however, remaining completely and absolutely still until the gun had been handed over, at which point he shoved both hands into the pockets of his jacket. Erik blinked then, the only outward response to his inward confusion, for, now that the firearm was in Moira's hands, he could sense its cold presence. Plucking it out of her grasp he frowned down at it, reassuring himself it was truly made of metal, before turning his scowl on the smiling stranger.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?" The response was confident, and it didn't take Erik more than a second to realize why. In order to get an honest answer, he would have to first admit as to how he knew something was being done in the first place, and that was not a concession he was willing to make.

"Erik?" Moira was watching him in confusion now, but he waved her question away, turning his full attention onto the enigma before him.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, my apologies." Looking genuinely remorseful, the young man reached for the chain hanging about his neck, lifting out the badge that had been concealed by the fabric of his shirt. "Detective Nicholas Reeve, Las Vegas Police Department, though I'm sure you already knew that last part." Putting his hands back into his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels, awaiting a reaction, though, when one was not forthcoming, he reiterated his earlier point. "I'm really not your enemy."

"And why should I believe you?" Erik demanded, more sure of himself now the gun was in his possession. He had control over this situation now, provided there were no other weapons concealed on the man's person that he could not sense.

"By all rights, you probably shouldn't," the Detective simply shrugged. "I don't imagine you'd be here if you had any other choice, and neither would I, truth be told. I have better things to be doing this early on a Sunday morning, believe it or not. I'm not here for you, your presence is entirely coincidental, and I'm quite happy to ignore the fact your even here, if that's what you want." His gaze shifted somewhat curiously to Moira. "You, on the other hand, are a matter of interest. How did you get caught up with these guys? Wait, ignore that, I know you're not going to answer it. By the way," lightning fast, his focus was back on Erik. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about a winged girl named Angel Salvadore, would you?"

The words took him by surprise, and he had stiffened involuntarily before he could stop himself. The look on the younger man's face, however, was as far from victorious as they come, his expression darkening almost instantly.

"Yeah, I was kinda afraid of that."

"What do you know about Angel?" Erik would have scolded Moira for revealing the connection, if he hadn't been about to do so himself. The mansion had been attacked, it made sense that the Hellfire Club would be too, and he had left Angel behind there, alone with Wade...

"I know she's dead," was the flat reply, and Moira gasped, her hand lifting to cover her mouth.

Erik simply tightened his grip on the weapon in his hands, his voice cold as he demanded, "How?"

"Multiple gunshot wounds," Nicholas answered him quietly. "It wasn't a pretty sight. You knew her?"

It wasn't really a question, even it was phrased like one, and, somewhat reluctantly, Erik found himself nodding. He could always kill the man if it turned out he was an enemy, but he wasn't getting that vibe, and Nicholas seemed to be going out of his way to appear non-threatening. Besides, if the Detective truly _was_ an enemy, then handing over his weapon was a ludicrous strategy.

"She was a part of our Network." That was vague enough to be relatively safe, but baiting, nonetheless.

"I figured," Nicholas nodded. "She's not the only one to have been killed here in Las Vegas. We've had three bodies so far in the last three days. Someone doesn't like your 'Network'. Not," he added thoughtfully, "that any of this is really all that original. The CIA seems to like destroying the information lines of groups like yours before they take them out."

"Groups like ours?" Moira pressed, shifting slightly closer to Erik, though what she expected him to do he was not quite certain.

"Mutant Resistance Groups, of course. You didn't think you were the only group of your kind in the world, did you?"

The words were out now, and they hung in the air like a net waiting to fall, a trap, a danger. Erik wondered suddenly where Emma and the teleporter had gone, but he did not allow their absence to distract him for long.

"What makes you think we're part of one?"

"The fact you're a mutant, for starters," he listed them off on his fingers. "Then there's the connection you have to Angel Salvadore, and that you're here at all. Leonard may treat some questionable patients, but not many of them call after midnight. The CIA came after you on your home turf, didn't they?" He didn't wait for an answer, continuing before they could even begin to make one, "It's what they always do, and we're the ones left to clean up the mess once the battle is over."

"The cops?" Moira queried dubiously, but the Detective shook his head.

"No," he corrected simply. "The Sentinels."

"The what?" Moira blinked blankly, and Erik was inclined to agree with the sentiment, even if his face remained bland.

"Sentinels," Nicholas elaborated. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard of them, most mutants don't until after the Strykers of the world make their move. We're a worldwide network of non-mutant individuals. Sympathizers, if you will. There are thousands of mutants in the world, it's only natural some of them should have families, friends, people who are prepared to stand by them no matter what the government says. We operate from the sidelines, staying well out of the way, and step in when we are needed to help rehome and re_hide_ the survivors. We keep our contact with guerilla groups limited to lower the risk of discovery, which allows us to operate with a fairly low risk of compromise. To date, I believe we've helped almost a dozen alliances regroup after they were attacked, even if some of them didn't think they needed help from humans. We weren't sure whether or not these latest killings were linked to a group or were just random," his eyes flickered to Moira's injuries, then back to Erik's steely expression. "I guess that question is answered now."

"You say 'we'," Moira spoke up cautiously, and Erik nodded his approval of that line of inquiry.

"Leonard Carter is a member of the Sentinel group," he explained. "That's one example of how helpful a human can be in a pinch, powers or not." He faltered then, seeming to come to a realization. "You said surgery earlier...How badly wounded _was_ your friend?"

How badly wounded? Erik had no idea. The unexpected confrontation had given him a distraction, and he had been focussed on dealing with the possible threat this man posed, but the Detective's words reawakened the strong swell of anxiety he had been trying to ignore up until now, and the doctor..._doctors_ had been absent for some time now.

"He was shot," answered Moira quietly. "It was pretty bad..."

"I'm sorry." He _sounded_ genuinely remorseful, and Erik was inclined to believe him this time. "It was Stryker?"

"One of his lackeys, actually," Erik shrugged, wondering if that was where Emma had disappeared to. It wasn't safe to leave Orez behind at the mansion for too long, after all, and, with the teleporter's help, it would have been easy to transport him to one of the holding cells in the Sanctum. Of course, if she had gone there she was most likely stuck trying to explain what had happened to Raven. They would be lucky if she managed to make it back without the shapeshifting mutant in tow.

"Mutant or human?"

That question took him off guard, because, so far as he knew, Stryker had kept his use of mutants as a weapon fairly low profile. There had been nothing in the Network to tell them about it, and the facility they had attempted to infiltrate had certainly been above and beyond the usual measures employed with anything stamped top secret. Moira, however, simply answered, her voice low and subdued as she dropped back down onto the sofa.

"Mutant. He didn't have a choice." That last was directed at Erik. He chose to ignore it.

"None of them do," Nicholas agreed somberly, then backtracked. "Well, I shouldn't really say that, I guess."

"What do you mean?" Erik turned on the Detective, suddenly wary, and Nicholas immediately raised his hands in a pacifying gesture.

"Hey, it's nothing to do with you, honest," he waved Erik's anger off. "It's just rumors, really."

"Rumors?" Moira was alert again now, too, exchanging a telling glance with the metal bender. "What rumors?"

"Well, I..." He didn't get any further than those two words.

"Nick! What in the blue blazes are you doing here?"

"You left your door open, Len," was the smart response. "And watch the language, you have guests."

"Right, yeah, the mutant's friends." Stepping into the waiting room, the surgeon viewed them both with an air of sharp distaste, though, unless Erik was greatly mistaken, it was almost a permanent fixture on this man's face.

"How is he?" Moira was on her feet again, her pale face looking even more gaunt beneath the strain of worry showing through.

Leonard took just one look at her before pointing at the couch. "Sit." Moira obeyed, though Erik chose to remain standing, confident the man would not try and order him around the same way. The surgeon considered it, briefly, he saw the spark in the tired brown eyes, before shaking his head and answering Moira's initial question. "You're friend is a very lucky man, Miss...?"

"Moira McTaggert."

"Miss Moira, then," he shrugged. "I don't know what that bullet was made of, but it did some very real damage. He has a broken rib, a fairly good clip to the lung, and he's very lucky it didn't make it to his heart. As it is he's going to be out of it for a few days, on a ventilator for at least twelve hours, and, barring any unexpected complications, off his feet for at least a week, aside from the therapeutic exercises we have to run through. You aren't going to be able to move him in the immediate future, so I sure as hell hope you haven't got any hunters on your tail."

"We were in the state of New York," Erik remarked dryly, trying not to sag in relief. "I hardly think we're going to be followed in a hurry."

"I didn't say anything about being followed," Len grouched in return, running a hand tiredly through his hair, before taking a deep breath. "I'm guessing you guys aren't going to move your asses out of here anytime soon, so you can either sleep on the couches or, and I would advise you to accept the latter, Miss Moira, you can take up residence in one of the operating rooms for the night. Provided that doesn't creep you out, that is."

"Can we see Charles first?" Moira ignored the suggestion for rest, wringing her hands together despite her bandaged limb, and fixing a pleading look on the dour surgeon's face. Leonard frowned, and it was James, reappearing now in the hallway outside, who broke the silence.

"Aw, come on, Len, be fair. They've been waiting long enough."

"Five minutes," the surgeon warned her, stepping aside hurriedly as the former CIA agent almost ran him over in her haste to get out of the room. Snorting derisively, he turned to Erik,raising an eyebrow as he folded his arms. "You're not going too?"

"I'll see him in the morning."

Truth be told, he really didn't think he could stomach seeing Charles right now. Not the way he _knew_ the telepath would look. The guilt he had managed to forget in the interim was crawling its way back to the forefront of his mind now, and he really had no desire to see the telepath until he was well enough to be able to hold his own in the conversation Erik was both dreading and waiting for with barely restrained impatience. It had been bad enough watching over him after Cuba, this could only be worse.

"Suit yourself." Dismissing him with a simple shrug, Len scowled at Nick, "What are you doing here, idjit?"

"_Idjit_?" James raised an eyebrow, but Nick waved the question away with a slight jerk of one hand.

"Long story," he muttered. "And I came here to warn you, Len. Believe it or not, after midnight visits to grouchy surgeon's are not my idea of a good night out."

"Warn me?" Frowning wearily, the surgeon heaved a deep sigh. "Okay, kiddo, hit me. What have we got hiding under the bed _this_ time?"

"We think Stryker's watchdog might be in Las Vegas."

"Oh _hell_." The vehemence of that utterance was enough to put Erik back on full alert, though he was saved from voicing the question in his mind by James, who looked utterly confused.

"Watchdog?"

"You've been out of the loop for a while, haven't you?" Len cast the other doctor a sidelong glance. "You wanna take this one, Nick, or shall I?"

"Stryker's got a mutant heading up his lead Seeker Group," the Detective explained. "A hunter, probably some sort of beast mutant. This particular group seem to be able to find other mutants based of scent and instinct, rather than the kind of things human hunters would use. Even those who they haven't identified by sight yet are at risk."

"And you think this...this _hunter_ is here? In the city?"

"Three murders in the last three days," Nick shrugged. "From what I've heard through the Sentinel grapevine, they match his MO, and the Mavericks have got some pretty nasty rumors circling their ranks."

"So, in other words, we're royally screwed," Len interpreted. "It doesn't matter whether you were followed or not," he added, directing his words at Erik this time. "This guy'll find you."

"What about Emily?" James asked, concerned. "Is she safe here?"

"Until her powers manifest, yeah," the surgeon nodded, seemingly comforted by that revelation. "The only reason Stryker knew she was a mutant was because he tested her genes, until she's of an age for her abilities to show, I don't think they can track her."

"And if you're wrong?" Erik spoke aloud, drawing the attention of all three men at once.

"Then I guess it's back to Plan B," Len snorted. "'Run for your lives screaming and hope you don't die'."

"It won't come to that," Nick insisted. "The Mavericks have eyes on this guy, he won't get close to you without us knowing about it first."

"That's what they all say, kid," Len remarked morbidly. "Right up until the moment their entrails are being spilled all over their living room floor."

**NOTES:**

**Just in case anyone is confused, here is a run through of the organizations and locations introduced so far.**

**Institution: **Mutant group headed by Charles and Erik.

**Network: **The Hellfire Club intelligence network.

**Sanctum: **The alternative hideout Emma found for the Institution's members, a former hideout of Shaw's.

**Sentinels: **Non-mutant individuals sympathetic to mutants, willing to help them in a pinch.

**Mavericks: **An underground informant group present in Las Vegas and other major cities, reporting directly to the Sentinels.

**Seeker Group: **Stryker's seek and destroy groups, the foremost of which is headed by a mutant.


	23. Chapter 23

**Quote: ** "To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction..." Newton's Third Law

**/Chapter 22\**

**-Opposing, But Not Opposition-**

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

The doctor's voice broke the steady thrum of the heart monitor, the first audible words to have left the man's mouth since Erik entered the room. The metal bender had watched in silence as the surgeon pottered to and fro, mumbling to himself and scribbling readings down on a clipboard, looking generally displeased with the world at large. He was not happy to have that silenced disturbed, and so he made no response, though it appeared Leonard did not need an answer to prompt him to continue.

"He's recovering well, mostly," he stated aloud, tapping the end of his pen against his clipboard. "When you take into account the excessive blood loss, extensive bruising, exhaustion, dehydration, the beginnings of a less than healthy body weight. Add on a clipped lung and a broken rib and, well," he smiled wryly, "you get the idea."

"He'll be all right, though?" It was a foolish question to ask, but one he could not stop himself from voicing. He didn't dare draw any closer to the bed. To have all doubt removed as to the paleness of his friend's face, or the livid bruises that decorated his arms from where he had likely thrown himself against the glass walls of his prison. The ventilator had been removed before he entered, a carefully timed eventuality, but just because the telepath was breathing on his own did not make the situation any more bearable.

He had _put_ him in that bed.

"That's hard to say." Leonard was frowning at his notes now. Or rather, scowling more intently than usual. Erik simply waited in silence, hoping the man would not need prodding. "I can treat the physical damage easy enough. His wounds weren't minor, but they're survivable, and he's healthy enough to be able to avoid the worst of any complications. We were able to take him off the ventilator without any hassle, which means his lungs are recovering well. On the other hand, there are certain unique factors to be considered here, and they have medical relevance."

"You mean his telepathy?" He remembered the last time Charles' abilities had been a 'factor'. It was not amongst his most cherished memories.

"It seems likely," the surgeon nodded briefly. "Put simply, your friend has placed himself in a coma, which is _not _a result of the surgery, because he was certainly aware enough to remove the vent a couple of hours ago. There is no _medical_ reason for this, so I can only assume it has something to do with his mutant abilities. From what James and Miss McTaggert have told me, you guys had a lot of crap going on on the mental front recently. This is most likely a direct result of that. You play with the mind, you pay the consequences."

Erik was incredibly familiar with paying consequences, and painfully aware of how often it was _others_ who paid the price of his own. Charles would be fine, though. He _had_ to be. Erik didn't think he'd be able to handle any other outcome right now.

Turning to the surgeon, who was putting his clipboard back in its rightful place on the end of Charles' bed, he asked the question that had first popped into his head when he awoke that morning to find he had fallen asleep on the couch in the waiting room. "Where's the Detective?"

"He left at some unholy hour of the morning." Leonard waved a hand absently, making final adjustments to the various instruments set in place about Charles. "Got a killer to catch, you know."

A _mutant_ who killed other mutants for sport, if Nicholas had been telling the truth. _Angel... _"And James?"

"I dragged him out of bed to help with the removal of the vent, then sent him straight back again. He's sleeping still, like every other sane person is on a Sunday morning."

Erik frowned. "You're up."

"What did I just say?" Len cast him a sidelong glance as he strode towards the door, offering one last warning as he left the room. "Don't _touch_ anything."

Ignoring the fact he had just been treated like a small child, Erik forced himself to move from his distant position, creeping hesitantly closer to the bed. He had been terrified of coming here. Of seeing the damage caused by his own mistakes. Of knowing he had very nearly destroyed what he had been trying so hard to protect. He had spent the past three hours simply standing outside the door, building up the courage to step inside, and it was time he had needed.

Charles looked even worse than he had after Cuba. Back then he had been pale and drawn, with visible signs he had been through a terrible ordeal. Now he just looked battered. There were too many bruises on the smaller man's body. Too many small cuts and scrapes visible, injuries that the pristine sheets could not hide. This was worse than Cuba. Far, far worse than Cuba, because at least what had been done there had only been mental damage, inflicted by accident. This had been _deliberate_, regardless of the fact he had not been in control of his own actions, and the slightly rasping breaths of the limp form before him were a constant reminder of his own failures. He was also forced to consider the fact that, if Charles had been awake earlier, even just aware, then putting himself under again had likely been deliberate.

Erik wasn't sure he liked the implications of that thought.

"His shields are gone."

He started, swinging his head up and away from Charles to focus on Emma. The female telepath had not returned the night before, and Raven had yet to make an appearance, so Erik did not even know for certain if she had returned to the Sanctum as he had assumed. She had changed, at least, into clothes that were not stained with blood, her blond hair bound into a tight ponytail at the back of her head. She looked surprisingly modest, without her usual outstanding dress-code, and Erik wondered why the sight invoked such a sense of dread in his mind.

"He would have noticed when he awoke," she continued on from her previous statement. "He needs time to rebuild them." He stared at her blankly, and she raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. "You were wondering why?"

"Right..." He _had_ been wondering-worrying, actually-but right now he was too emotionally fatigued to focus on any one thing at a time. Or maybe that was more due to the throb between his temples, worthy of the worst hangover in history. _Telepathic hangover, and you're not even a telepath._ He grimaced slightly, turning his attention back to the woman before him. "What do you want?"

"I was shot." He stared, but her face was expressionless beneath his scrutiny, her voice flat and unchanging. "It seemed best to have a doctor examine the wound."

"You were _both_ shot?" He didn't remember a second shot, but maybe he had missed an earlier confrontation. There were bruises around the female telepath's neck that looked relatively recent, and she was holding herself with a posture that was even stiffer than usual, meaning there was a high probability of other injuries hidden beneath her clothes.

"Stryker doesn't like telepaths." Her lips curled into a poor resemblance of her usual smirk, and, looking at her more closely, he realized there was something slightly vacant about her expression. "Angel is dead."

"I know." The sudden change of subject took him by surprise, but he went along with it anyway, in no fit state to argue. It didn't occur to him until a few seconds later _exactly_ what implications that simple fact might have for the psionic mutant. The two women had shared a mental bond, a tie he could not, and _preferred_ not to, understand. He had no idea what effect one end of that connection dying might have on the other party. "I'm...sorry?"

"She was killed by a mutant. A mutant working for Stryker."

"I know." His head might be currently filled with cotton wool, but he could still remember the conversation that had taken place the night before...or, if he wanted to be more accurate, earlier this morning.

"I want him." It wasn't a request for permission, just a declaration of a cold, hard, immovable fact. The vacant look in her eyes was gone now, replaced by a fury that burned with enough intensity to inform him she was deadly serious.

"Emma..." He was in no fit state to deal with this, and there was no guarantee he would have been able to handle the female telepath if he _wasn't_ currently suffering from the worst headache he had ever experienced. This...this, right here, was Charles job, and Erik severely doubted his own ability to step up to the plate on that count.

"I'm not here to _ask_ your permission," she spat furiously, and he almost flinched back from that anger, only years of self-control preventing the instinctual reaction. "A mutant destroying another over a disagreement or similar circumstances is one thing. To do it for _sport_, for _Stryker_, is unforgivable. I. Want. _Him_."

"Emma..." He tried to interject a second time, but she cut him off with a decisive slice of one hand.

"Don't bother, sugar. You aren't going to talk me out of this."

"You're in no fit state to take on anyone," Erik pointed out, his eyes drifting across the visible injuries a second time. "What happens if this mutant has been immunized? Moira said the vaccine was a hit and miss, and only those it was genetically designed for were fully protected, but what guarantee do you have that this mutant wasn't one of those recipients? You don't have Shaw to protect you anymore, Miss Frost, perhaps you should take that into account."

"What makes you think I _need_ protecting?" The tone was sharp, with a lethal edge, and Erik took a deep breath as he tried _not_ to react with the anger that rose so easily in the back of his mind. Turning this into a fully fledged argument was not a good idea right now, for _many_, many reasons.

"Emma." Stepping forward quickly without taking the time to think about what that would do to his aching head, he gripped a hold of her by the forearms, meeting her blazing, blue gaze with as much determination as he could muster. "If you want to do this, then by all means, go ahead. I'm not going to insult us both by pretending I'd try to stop you out of any genuine concern. If I had my way, you would never have been a part of the Institution. But, if you _do_ go, I'd recommend waiting until you're fully recovered. The only revenge you'll get if you go like this is joining Angel in the afterlife."

"Speaking from experience there, Erik?" Her eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing, and the mental intrusion that forced him to release his hold just as much so. "Your honesty, at least, is outstanding, but I wonder if _I'm_ the one you should really be worrying about. You didn't want _me_ in this Institution, Erik, but, truthfully,_ I've_ been more of a team player than _you_ have. Tell me, _truthfully_, which one of us did more good during this last catastrophe, because it certainly wasn't _you_."

There was really no response he could think of to that, not when his own guilt was agreeing with every word, and Emma knew it, her lips curling into a cold smile of satisfaction as every barb struck home.

"No answer? Well, isn't _that_ a surprise. We had a chance here, you know, a chance to make this Institution work, but, not anymore." She shook her head, and there was a brief glimpse of something in her eyes. Regret? Loss? He could not tell, and she was not yet done, her voice filling the silence of the room. "One misstep too many, sugar."

"Are you saying we're through?" He stared at her uncomprehendingly. "That Stryker has _won_?"

"That's entirely up to you, Erik," she shrugged. "But I'm done with trying to toe the line here. Charles begged me to give the Institution a chance. Well, I did, and _you_ blew it."

The emphasis on the 'you_'_ was far too pointed for him to miss the singular inflection behind it, and he frowned, swallowing thickly as he considered his response. "You won't wait to speak with Charles?"

"What's the point?" She waved a hand dismissively. "I already know what he'll say. It'll be the same winning lines he used to convince me the first time around. But, here's the thing, sugar; nothing is _ever_ as sweet on the second serving. It's a nice dream, but reality is never going to live up to the fantasy. I'm leaving, Erik, and I'm not going to change my mind. I only came to tell you."

She had turned on her heel and was almost out the door before his stunned mind caught up.

"Where will you go?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he had a chance to consider what her reaction might be. Resting one hand against the doorframe, she turned to glance at him, giving a careless shrug.

"The Hellfire Club needs a leader, sugar." She took two more steps, before seeming to reconsider, and throwing a final farewell over her shoulder. "If you need me, I suggest you call me there. Otherwise, leave well alone."

**1st Class**

Against the doctor's orders, which, she told herself, had been more of a _suggestion_ really, Moira only slept for a few hours before joining the waking world again. In reality, she had slumbered through what was left of the night and most of the morning, too, but that did not change the number of hours between her falling asleep and waking again.

Sunlight was streaming through the kitchen windows by the time she had pressed the worst of the creases out of her clothes, detangled her hair, and found her way around the eerily quiet surgery. Where Erik had gone she did not know, but she doubted the metal bender had slept, and Emma and John had yet to return from their unannounced departure. The two doctors and Emily were, to her knowledge, all sleeping, as she should still have been. So, for now, she had the entire place to herself.

Or so she thought.

"Good morning."

The address startled her, and she whirled, hand searching for a gun that had been lost sometime between the events of the last night and this morning. The man seated at the kitchen table, however, appeared no more threatening than he had before, gray eyes assessing her actions with veiled amusement.

"Are you going to shoot me, Miss Moira?"

"Detective Reeve." Somewhat embarrassed, and still far more wary than the situation truly warranted, Moira wondered when her CIA training had given way to the paranoia that now seemed to dictate her every action. "I didn't expect you to still be here."

"I'm not 'still' here," he smiled slightly. "I left not long after you went to see your friend, but the day wasn't going so well, so I decided to see if Len and James could provide any inspiration on this case. Unfortunately, it appears everyone here has been heavily anesthetized."

That wasn't the whole story, and she _knew_ it.

"You were worried about her." He merely gazed at her, and, taking a seat opposite his own at the table, she elaborated. "About Emily."

"I worry about everyone," he smiled at her passively. "It's part of my job description. But, yeah, I felt a lot better knowing I'd be here if something happened, especially seeing as we can't even seem to keep track of this guy, Maverick eyes on him or not. Len's a good man, and he cares for that girl far more than he'll let anyone believe, but he's a doctor, not a soldier, and there are monsters out there now that not even the latter can hope to fight."

"You mean mutants?" Moira asked, a tad more harshly than she had intended. Nicholas, for his part, merely exhaled slowly, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.

"Yes and no," he agreed and disagreed. "You may try and deny it, Miss Moira..."

"Just Moira," she interrupted him.

"Moira, then," he nodded. "You may try to deny it, but there _are_ some mutants out there who would rather use their powers to force things to go their way then to actually try and achieve a peaceful solution. I'm not excusing the actions of men like Stryker, but I'm a detective, Moira, and I've seen some pretty bad things happen to both sides. _Caused _by both sides. We've got a war on our hands here, and, to be honest, nobody has the slightest clue what to do about it. We're trying, we're doing our best, but nobody expected to be confronted with something like this."

"That's just a minority, though," Moira insisted. "Most mutants aren't like that."

"You think I don't know that?" His rebuttal was gentle. "I wouldn't be a Sentinel if I didn't believe they deserved a chance, Moira."

"Right," she nodded, accepting that statement at face value. "What are you saying, then?"

"I'm saying that out there be monsters." He waved a hand in the general direction of the outside world, gray eyes misted with a dark veil of remembrance. "And they don't need mutated genes to qualify for that title."

"Stryker." She had uttered the name before she was even aware of it, and the detective's gaze snapped to her face immediately. Something raw and angry flitted through his expression, but just for a moment, before the calm, outward exterior returned once more.

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up." There was a moment's silence between them, and Moira dropped her gaze to study the tabletop, wondering whether or not either of the doctors would mind if she went to visit Charles again.

"He was responsible, you know."

The rejoinder made her start, and she jerked her head back up again, meeting his sincere gaze with confusion. "Stryker was responsible?...For what, exactly?"

"What happened in Cuba," he answered her simply. "It was his movement that prompted the vote to fire on the mutants fighting there. The Director of the CIA, your boss, he was against it."

"How do you know that?" Alarm raced through her at the thought these people might have infiltrated the CIA. It took her mind a short while to catch up with her instincts, and remind her that CIA security was no longer her concern. If anything, this was an _advantage_ to them.

"James found out," Nick shrugged slightly. "He's been amassing evidence against Stryker, trying to prove it was him, not the mutants, whose actions led to what happened in Cuba."

"That'll never happen." Because, even if Stryker _had_ started the motion, he hadn't been the one to finish it. "He didn't fire the missiles."

"But he _did_ put you in a position that required you to take an offensive stance in order to defend yourselves," the detective pointed out. "Make a strong enough case, Moira, and you might be able to reverse this whole 'mutants are the new plague' thing we've got going around."

"You honestly believe that?" She had ceased being that hopeful a long time ago, and her lack of conviction showed in her voice.

"You have to believe in something," replied Nicholas nonchalantly. "Mutants aren't the first 'race' to be persecuted, Moira, and they won't be the last. But, so long as someone is willing to stand up and fight, this _will_ end, no matter how long it takes."

"I used to think that was all that we needed to do," Moira sighed, burying her face in her hands as she tried to cling to the fragile strand of hope still left within her reach. "Charles always told us all we needed was to believe that we could make this better, but...but I don't know anymore. After this past week...Everything has changed, I've seen so many terrible things, and I'm not sure if I can do this anymore."

"_You_ don't have to." His voice was soft, gentle, but the words themselves hit their mark like the well aimed darts they were meant to be. "_You _can walk away whenever you want. We all can."

"But _they_ can't."

She already knew that. Had known it for so long now that it should have been engrained in her mind, but, somewhere along the way, she had begun to believe it might be better, _easier_, if she _did_ just walk away. She had not considered the fact that she was the only one to have that choice. That for Charles, and Erik, and Raven, and all the others there were no options, no free passes to freedom. It was a dark fact, a reminder that zipped through her mind like an electric shock, and she swallowed harshly, shocked by the impact something she had already _known_ could have on her.

"Are you hungry?" The sudden remark broke through her dark thoughts, and she glanced up at him in unconcealed astonishment. "Brunch?" he prompted her, when no reply was forthcoming, and she found herself mutely nodding, watching in complete and utter bewilderment as he set about fixing her a simple meal, moving about the kitchen as if it was his own.

"Sentinels," she muttered at last, once she had regained control of her voice. "You're all mad!"

"Part of the job description," he grinned at her momentarily, before turning his attention back to his work. Somewhat mystified, she followed his every movement with her eyes, wondering whether or not to pursue the topic of conversation that was now lingering in the forefront of her mind.

"Ask, Moira." He startled her by beating her to the point. "I promise I don't bite."

"Why do you do this?" she blurted, forcing herself to elaborate on that point when he merely sent her a look of slight confusion. "You, and James, and Dr. Carter. You're risking so much...and for what?"

"I could ask you the same question." Setting a plate down on the table before her, he resumed his position on the other side of the table, lacing his fingers together as he met her inquisitive gaze unflinchingly. "We all have an interest in the outcome for the mutant side, no matter what that reason might be."

"And what's _your_ reason?" Erik might think he had the monopoly on wariness around strangers, but Moira's less direct approach was far more likely to yield results than his blunt mistrust. She hoped so, anyway, otherwise this had been a wasted opportunity.

"Your friend is a metal bender, Moira, but you saw what happened last night. What do you think my reason is?"

"How did you know about Erik?" Unintentionally starting, she almost dropped the utensil in her good hand, staring at him as she tried to remember whether they had given any such information away the night before.

"That's complicated," he winced, immediately trying to shift the topic away from his own uncanny knowledge. "Besides, you're kind of missing the point here."

"Erik didn't take your gun," Moira blinked, the fact only just now occurring to her with all its significant glory. "He didn't _know_ you, he should have disarmed you the moment you entered the room." And he had said something else, too, that she did not understand then, but did now. "He _couldn't_ disarm you."

"You're breakfast is going cold," Nicholas informed her helpfully, but Moira scarcely heard him, the wheels of her mind turning at a rapid pace as she tried to fit the pieces together.

"Have you received a vaccine, like Stryker's?" she wondered aloud, but the Detective simply snorted, shaking his head in a decisive negative.

"That vaccine is a telepath's worst nightmare," he explained. "It has no effect on other mutant powers, only those that affect the mind."

"James told you that?"

"More or less. Telepathic talent is Stryker's worst fear, it makes sense for him to have developed something to combat that."

"Right, of course." And she was straying off topic again. The answer was sitting right before her, but it wasn't exactly a subject she was wiling to breach. "So, if it's not a vaccine..."

"I'm not going to hand you the answer on a platter, if that's what you're hoping for," he shrugged, but before either Moira or he could speak further an outburst of noise from the hallway drew the attention of them both.

"Where _is_ he?"

The voice was familiar, the panicked note flooding the young woman's tone immediately attention grabbing, but, when Moira turned to face the latest visitor to Leonard Carter's overfilled practice, she could not conceal the start her appearance caused. It had been a long time since she had seen Raven in this form, her eyes falling upon soft, cherubic features framed by long golden ringlets, the portrait of a beautiful girl she knew all too well, wearing an expression that was a mixture of both terror and barely restrained grief.

"Moira? Where is he? Emma said..."

"He's alive, Raven." Moira's voice was deliberately soothing as she rose to greet the distraught young woman. "Doctor Carter believes he's likely to make a full recovery."

"He...He's going to be okay?" Raven was shaking, Moira could see the tremors radiating through her form, the fear in her eyes still too fresh to be so easily assuaged. "Emma said...she said...and then the teleporter was too exhausted to bring me and I had to have Azazel...but he had to go back so he wouldn't be seen and...and I..."

"Calm down, love, your friend is going to be _fine_." James' appearance was timely, because Moira honestly had no idea how to calm the frightened young woman. Even so, she could not help a small flare of irrational resentment at how absurdly chipper the man was, despite the ridiculously small amount of sleep she _knew _they had _all_ gotten the night before. "He came through the surgery much better than either Len or myself expected, and there's been no relapse thus far. Our main concern actually has nothing at all to do with the bullet wound."

"Your can't be serious!" Raven stared at the doctor in alarm. "He had more than one injury?"

"What? Oh, no. No no no." James shook his head at once. "This isn't anything like that. It's just, well, so far as we can tell, he's fallen into a coma."

"A coma?" Raven's voice was just a note below a shriek, and Moira moved swiftly to place a comforting hand on the younger woman's shoulder.

"Yes." James was trying to be reassuring, his voice soft and gentle, his manner one of quiet confidence. "But we don't think its anything to be overly concerned about. As I said before, this isn't related to his physical injuries."

Moira frowned a moment, trying to discern the meaning behind his words, though it only took a moment for her mind to connect the dots this time. Perhaps because the last time she had seen this same phenomena had been so firmly engraved upon her mind. "You mean this is a sort of...backlash?"

"Exactly." James was undeniably relieved that _someone_ had understood. "We've..._I've_ seen it before in telepaths Stryker has pushed beyond their endurance, and what Charles did yesterday, on _top_ of his injuries, was, so far as I'm aware, beyond the reach to which he would normally extends his abilities. The mirror room wouldn't have helped, and, with all those factors combined, he would have been under an immense amount of strain. His mind just needs time to heal itself, and that's exactly what it's doing. Provided this doesn't last more than a few days, I don't believe you have any cause for further concern."

Raven sagged at Moira's side, her face deathly pale, relief practically radiating from her form. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be without having carried out extensive research into the science behind all this," James offered her a rueful grin. "This is all trial and error, I'm afraid. By the way, I don't believe we've met yet. James Black, at your service, Miss...?"

"Raven Xavier." With only traces of the caution Moira could easily read in her eyes, Raven extended her hand to the young man. "I'm Charles' sister."

"It's a pleasure." Grasping her hand briefly, he dropped his own limb back to his side as he turned his attention to Moira. "Have you guys had breakfast yet?"

"Nick fixed me something," Moira confessed, with a slightly nervous smile pointed in the Detective's direction. "I hope Dr. Carter doesn't mind that we hijacked his kitchen."

"He'll be fine with it, Nick does it all the time anyway," James grinned, basking in a moment of levity, then sobered slightly as he turned to Raven. "Would you like to see your brother, Miss Xavier?"

"Please."

Pulling free of Moira's hold, Raven hastened to follow the young doctor down the hallway. Moira let her go without making any attempt to follow, knowing full well the shapeshifter would most likely want to see her brother alone. Instead she turned back to the Detective, now putting the remains of her breakfast away, allowing her curiosity to override the niggling worry at the back of her mind that would not be truly settled until she had seen Charles again herself.

"You three have known each other for a long time, then?" It wasn't really a question. From the way the trio interacted it was obvious to see this friendship was a longstanding one. James and Leonard she could understand, she already knew the former had been Leonard's student during his stint in medical school. Nick, on the other hand, was the odd one out, and she was certain he was hiding something from her.

"How can you tell?" His answer was deliberately lighthearted, but, once again, any response on her part was forestalled by a second interruption.

"Moira?" Hank's voice was much, _much_ quieter than Raven's had been, filled with trepidation as the beast mutant lingered in the shadow of the hallway, unwilling to show himself before a stranger.

"It's fine, Hank," she reassured him, keeping her gaze on Nick as she waited for the scientist to join them. "He's on our side, I think."

"Uh, hi?" Hank stepped into the daylight streaming in through the kitchen window, his face twisted into a tentative mile. To give the Detective his due credit, the only reaction he gave to Hank's unusual appearance was a rather wide eyed stare that was rapidly blinked away, allowing the scientist to continue with his awkward opening. "I'm uh...I'm Hank McCoy."

Nick glanced down at the hand extended by the scientist, before backing up a step as he raised his palms in a warning gesture. "Actually, I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Huh?" Hank's face scrunched up in confusion, and Nick drew in a deep breath, shooting Moira a slightly cornered look, before exhaling just as heavily as he had inhaled.

"Honestly, this is going to be a bit of a shock."

Without waiting to explain that cryptic statement, the Detective reached out and grasped the offered limb in a firm handshake, choosing _not_ to release his hold once the motion was done. Moira, for her part, could do nothing but stare, her lips moving of their own accord.

"Dear God!"

"What?" Hank looked at her in bewilderment, before tracing her gaze down to his own body, his eyes widening in shock at what he saw. Whipping his hand out of the Detective's grasp, he took several rapid steps back, watching the change that occurred with as much simultaneous confusion and shock as Moira herself.

"What..." The CIA agent began, trying, and failing, to gather her thoughts. "How...You..."

"I don't believe it!" Hank's tone was wondering, his eyes glowing brightly with the excitement only a scientific mind could share, seemingly unaware of the way he was cradling the hand Nick had held a moment before. "I mean, I know it's possible. Of course it's possible, even _probable_, but...I just can't believe it!"

"Hank," Moira interrupted before he could fall into a little, private world of his own, just barley reigning in the panic that was threatening to overrule common sense. "_Please_ tell me what just happened."

"Well, uh, Moira," Hank glanced down at his hands once more, as if expecting them to appear just as human as they had a moment before, then turned his amber gaze back upon the now silent Detective. "I think we might have just found the antimutant."

**A/N: (Figured you guys had been waiting for this long enough to deserve to read it _before _reading my ramblings) Hopefully, the volume of this makes up for the lateness, which I am not going to apologize for this time, as circumstances were beyond my control. In any case, I just have one little note for this chapter, and that's that there was no _way _in hell I was going to name a character _Leech_. I mean, so far as mutant names go, that's even lower than Toad-Leech? Who calls themselves _Leech_!-So, apologies Leech, but I just stole your powers and liberally disposed them elsewhere, all because I can't stand your name. :D**


	24. Chapter 24

**Quote: ** "When trouble comes they come not in single spies but in battalion form"-mangled Shakespearian and Wide Sargasso Sea quotation.

**/Chapter 23\**

**-It Never Rains, it Pours-**

Every word of assurance the young doctor had uttered on the short walk from one end of the house to another flew out of Raven's head the moment she laid eyes upon her brother. There was no way to prepare herself for the shock of seeing him in such a state again, and to know that this was not the worst he had been did not soften the blow at all. They had come too close this time. Far, far too close. For a moment she stood frozen in place, heedless of the young man standing beside her, still talking in a low, comforting tone. Then reality sank in, and she was moving forward without thought, almost running across the room to her brother's side.

"Charles?" Her voice came out a nervous whisper as she clutched at his hand, her eyes frantically studying his face for a response. For _anything_ to show her he was okay. "Charles, can you hear me?"

He didn't react to her presence, instead simply continuing to breathe with a regular rhythm that was vaguely comforting. She could reassure herself with the knowledge he _was_ still breathing, and the sharp, intermittent beep behind her told her the heart over which her hand now hovered was still beating. He was still alive. He was...

"Raven?"

The one word address made her whirl, long blond hair swinging with the movement, her eyes falling upon the man who had previously been concealed in the corner of the room. Recognition struck immediately, and she found herself standing in place again, this time for a very different reason. Erik took a step forward, then hesitated, seemingly unsure of her own uncertainty. Raven took that moment to study him. To take note of the fact he looked pale and tired but not at all injured. After what had happened at the mansion, not even Emma had escaped unscathed, and that he was standing before her now, apparently whole and hearty, only served to drive home a point she had not really noticed until it hit her square in the face.

Because the only reason Charles was in that bed was because he had gone back.

Back for _Erik_.

"Raven..." The metal bender took another step forward and, on instinct, she took two back, pressing her back against the metal sides of the bed. That caused Erik to come up short, a frown of consternation passing briefly over his face.

"Are you..." She didn't know how to put her fears into words, and so she floundered, searching for a way to ask something she shouldn't have to. "Are you...Are you _you_?"

Realization dawned almost instantly, something close to hatred flitting briefly through his eyes, then vanishing beneath guilt and sorrow.

"It's me, Raven," he uttered quietly. "Charles stopped the other telepath."

"Good." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the young doctor beat a hasty retreat, and she wondered, just briefly, what her expression must look like before flinging that thought out of her mind as she marched across the room to take a swing at Erik. The metal bender was so astonished by this turn of events that she very nearly succeeded, only last minute reflexes causing him to lash out and seize her wrist in an iron grip. Not at all deterred by this she swung with her other arm, forcing him to halt the second blow.

"Raven!"

"Why didn't you come for me?" She was furious, and she struggled against his hold, fighting to get free. "Why didn't you let me know what had happened? My brother could have been _dying_ and you didn't even _think_ of me!"

"Raven, there wasn't _time_..."

"There is _always_ time! And what about after? Why didn't you come after? We were all alone in the Sanctum, Erik, wondering what had happened to you. To Charles. To _everybody_! You just left us there! If it hadn't been for Emma, we would have thought you were all _dead_!"

"Raven..."

"You have no idea what happened on the Estate! There were men with guns, Erik. _Stryker's_ men! We came this close, _this close_ to being wiped out! If Emma and Charles hadn't arrived when they did, we would _all_ be dead. _All_ of us! He was fine when he told me to leave. He was...he was _fine_. He told me it would be alright. He was going to save _you_, Erik. Why didn't you _help_ him? Why didn't you stop this from happening? He always gets hurt because of you!"

Those last six words poured out of her mouth as an accusation, and she was too distraught to care enough to take them back. She couldn't live through this over and over again. Through watching her brother almost die whilst she was relegated to the sidelines, forced to watch what she could not stop. She had been living in an illusion for the past six months, the fanciful belief that her life could continue as it had before Cuba. Before the world turned on them all. This? _This_ brought home everything she had been trying to pretend was not happening, and having to wear her old disguise again only served as a reminder that her life would never be the same. They were at war now, people were going to die, and she was selfish enough to hope no one she knew were among those fate had chosen to be sacrificed.

Erik's grip had gone lax, and, when she dared to look up at him through her tears, she found his gaze downcast, focussed on something she could not see. This wasn't his fault, and she had been wrong to accuse him of any wrongdoing when his actions had not been his own. She couldn't undo what had been said, but she could at least try and lessen a little of the impact her words had had.

"I can't lose either of you, Erik." He lifted his somber gaze to meet her own as she wrapped her arms about herself, shaking her head helplessly. "I _can't_."

"I'm sorry."

Exactly what he was apologizing for she was not sure, but she nodded anyway, sucking in a sharp breath as she pulled herself together. She had always resented the way Charles tried to protect her. The way he treated her like a much younger sister, rather than the few years apart they truly were. Well, now it was time to prove she was the adult she claimed to be.

"Are you all right, Erik?" It was the question she _should_ have asked _before_ she tried to punch him. "You look..."

"Like hell?" he supplied helpfully, and with more than a little bitterness. "I'm told its to be expected."

"She's gone now, right?" She couldn't help but ask again, even though he had already told her. "She's...out of your head?"

"She's gone, Raven." He sounded relatively certain, at least. "There's no one but me to blame for that particular mess." He considered her cautiously for a moment, before venturing more. "Hank and the others got away safely?"

"Azazel teleported the students to safety," she confirmed quietly, drawing her composure around herself like a cloak. "We made a few trips back to the mansion to get clothes and other supplies. Stryker's men were gone, and they didn't seem to have left anyone behind. I left Sean, Alex, and Riptide to make sure the students don't get lost or anything in the Sanctum."

"And Hank?"

"He came with me," she confessed with a wince. "He was worried."

Erik raised an eyebrow slightly, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door. "I don't hear any screams of terror yet."

Raven laughed. "Emma said these people were used to mutants," she offered, not failing to note the shadow that flashed across his face at the mention of the female mutant. "Where _is_ Emma?"

"Gone. For good, most likely." Running a hand through his hair, he slumped back down into his chair, waving her towards another. After a moment's consideration, she obeyed the gesture, sitting down opposite him. "Apparently, we don't live up to her expectations. I'm not sure whether to be glad or...upset."

Her own feelings on the matter were just as conflicted, and the only response she could think to utter came out sounding cold. "She had her uses."

"She did," he agreed soberly. "And we'll no doubt find out just how many when we need her and find she is not there. But we can't do anything about that now. Did she bring Orez back to the Sanctum?"

"Yes." That was the one thing the female telepath had refused to explain. Well, that and exactly where she had gotten a second teleporter from. And then there was her refusal to mention what particular series of events had led to Charles being shot. "He was unconscious, and still is, so far as I know. Emma said Charles would know what to do with him."

Erik made a soft noise of agreement, but did not elaborate further. Raven waited a beat, then, when it appeared he was not going to speak on his own, pressed. "What _happened_, Erik? After we left? And before? How did Phoenix..." She waved her hands, unable to form words fit to describe what had occurred. "How did she _do_ this?"

"I don't know." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes darting from her, to Charles, and back to the floor again. "All I know for certain is that this attack had been planned for a long time, perhaps since Cuba. Orez was a spy, Raven, sent to infiltrate our ranks. I _knew_ there was something wrong about him, but I couldn't pinpoint anything, and the other telepath must have protected his mind from intrusion, because Charles couldn't see anything either. How he managed it doesn't really matter now, though, all that is important is that he _did_. Orez was feeding Stryker information on our every move, whether through the telepath or some other way I do not know. _Everything _we did he knew about before we did it."

"He _can't_ have known everything," Raven protested mildly, shocked by the revelation. "We wouldn't have survived otherwise."

"No. But I don't think that lack was Orez's doing." He frowned pensively, gaze growing distant. "Stryker's telepath turned on him, which means she most likely wasn't serving willingly in the first place. If Orez was sending messages through a telepathic link such as that Angel and Emma had, then the telepath might have been filtering information out of his reports."

"Do you think they know about the Sanctum?" The Sanctum was their only safeguard. If the enemy had discovered it, they had nowhere else to go.

"The Sanctum was a part of their plan all along," Erik responded grimly. "They used it to contain Charles. He was their target."

"_Charles_ was their target?" Raven started in surprise. "But Stryker came after all of us!"

"Because leaving any one of us alive guaranteed that someone would come after _him_," Erik reminded her sharply. "Stryker wanted Charles for Cerebro. Apparently, if what Moira told me is true, finding a telepath who can use it in the same way Charles can is not as easy as one might assume."

"He wanted a way of locating mutants," Raven concluded, the true horror of what they had only just avoided slowly sinking in. "If he had succeeded..."

"He didn't," Erik reminded her softly, but she shook her head.

"He still _could_," she retorted quickly. "If he knows where the Sanctum is he'll come after us there and..."

"We'll have to find somewhere else," Erik interrupted her, leaning back in his chair slightly. "We can't go back to the mansion after this, so at least we won't have to worry about being close to it anymore. If Emma was still with us I could have asked her if she knew of any...But she isn't, so we'll have to manage on our own."

"How?"

"I don't know, Raven. I honestly don't know." Erik shook his head. "Maybe Charles..."

Before he could go further, they were interrupted by a loud shattering of glass. Leaping to her feet in alarm, Raven started for the door and the source of the noise, only to be yanked back by Erik as the door swung inwards with enough force that it struck the wall with a loud bang.

"Well, hello there, Gen'ral, fancy seeing you here."

"Wade." Pushing Raven behind him, Erik purposefully placed himself between the swordsman and the rest of those in the room. "Why am I not surprised?" Eyeing the swords in the man's hand, he continued blithely, "You _are_ aware those are metal, yes?"

"Oh, of course." Wade merely grinned, entirely unperturbed by the fact the metal bender could easily impale him with his own weapons. "You see, Gen'ral, I'm not really here for you. You're not the goal, and _I'm_ not the seeker."

Raven felt her eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat as a large shadow began to loom in the doorway behind the swordsman. The man towering behind Wade was far larger than Hank, and she had the sinking suspicion all that muscle was not merely for show. Wade's smile had grown to envelope his whole face now, eyes twinkling with dark mirth as he cocked his head to the side and finished his response to Erik's question.

"I'm just the distraction." Stepping to the side, he made a small bow, waving a hand in their direction. "Michael, be my guest."

**1st Class**

If he hadn't been distracted by the wonder of the discovery before him, Hank might have seen the shadow lingering outside the kitchen window. Maybe. If he had seen it, he might have been able to stop what happened next. Possibly. If he had known what that shadow meant, the danger it posed. But he didn't, and thus, when the windows suddenly shattered inwards without warning, he wasn't able to do anything but leap to cover Moira from the glass raining down on all their heads.

He had just enough time to realize they were probably in a lot of trouble before something hit him with enough force to send him catapulting into the opposite wall, the sheer strength behind the impact causing him to pass right through the wooden barrier and into the hallway beyond. Shocked, he shoved himself to his feet as quickly as he could manage, whirling about to face his attacker. Or, _attackers_, he swiftly amended, upon seeing the lean woman stepping over broken glass to enter the kitchen, a confident smirk painted across her pretty face.

"Blue, huh?" The mutant who had thrust him through the wall was looking him up and down with a depreciating stare, the roughened edges of his face pulled up into a smile of amusement. "Well, there's no second guessing where your concerned, is there?"

"Who are you?" Hank demanded, keeping one wary eye on Moira, thankful that the Detective had hauled her to safety after he had been prevented from reaching her. Nick was now standing between her and the enemy, his gun in hand, though how effective that weapon would be remained to be seen. "What do you want with us?"

"With you?" The man snorted. "Absolutely nothing, Blue. You're just a hurdle in the middle of the road." Swinging about, he fixed an intent stare on the Detective instead. "You should have known better than to set a watch on us, Officer." His smile turned predatory. "We don't take kindly to being followed, especially not by Mavericks."

"What did you _do_?" Nick demanded, and Hank had to admire his ability to stay calm under pressure, even if all he was really doing was buying them time. So long as these two were here, they weren't upstairs where Emily and the two doctors were hopefully finding a way out. Or with Charles and Raven, who were equally undefended.

_Keep talking, Nick. Just keep talking._

"We took _care_ of your three shadowers," the woman responded evenly. "And more besides. You should thank us, really. I imagine there'll be a few promotions going around the police force here in LA. We left a lot of vacancies."

Nick's face tightened with fury, and Hank hurriedly interjected, intent on keeping these two _here_. It wouldn't last. He _knew_ it wouldn't. But even a little time could make the difference between life and death for the non-mutant members of this household.

"What do you want from us?"

"Ah, a sensible man." The mutant who had thrown him through the wall smiled in a feral manner, making him seem even more beast-like than he already did. The observation was a little hypocritical, Hank admitted, but this mutant seemed more animal than man, and not just in appearance. "Just hand over the telepath, Blue, and we'll be out of here with minimal damage."

"You can't seriously think we'll just _give_ him to you!" Moira finally seemed to find her voice, just in time to convey a disbelief on par with his own.

"Of course not," the man scoffed with poorly concealed disdain. "But, then, it wouldn't be half as fun if you did, would it?"

"Moira..." Tensing slightly, Hank didn't take his eyes off the other mutant, waiting until the former CIA agent's focus was solely on him before finishing his sentence. "Run!"

**1st Class**

Erik was given all of two seconds to consider the large, non-metal bearing mutant lumbering through the doorway before the mammoth was upon him. Two seconds. Just long enough to realize there was nowhere near enough metal in the room to do him any good, and to come to the equally depressing conclusion it was highly unlike any of his combat training would serve any purpose against the literal giant bearing down upon him. He had fought men like this before and only just barely came out of the scuffle alive. Back then he had been well armed. Right here and now, he barely stood a chance.

He ducked anyway, dragging Raven with him and letting his opponent crash past, thankfully in a direction that didn't take him anywhere near the alarmingly vulnerable telepath. With Charles in the room, and more of a liability than an asset at the moment, Erik couldn't simply take the wise path of flight. Shoving Raven towards the empty doorway and hoping the young woman would take the hint, noting at the same time with some frustration that Wade had vanished, taking his swords with him, he swung back around to confront the big man. For such a heavily-built individual, his opponent had a surprising turn of speed, and he barely had time to throw his arms up in self defense before he was struck with all the force a ton of bricks could provide.

Momentarily stunned, he stumbled back, then dodged beneath another swing, a meaty fist passing dangerously close to his head. Turning a duck into a roll, he managed to get behind the enemy, throwing his entire body weight into a tackle that would have thrown any other man to the floor. The giant merely staggered slightly, before throwing him off with enough force to send him careening over to the other side of the room. He hit the cabinet attached to the wall there, the contents spilling out in a hail of glass bottles and white gauze rolls. Promptly deciding any weapon was better than none, Erik grabbed the first vessel his hand fell upon, flinging it at his advancing enemy. The bottle shattered against the mutant's shoulder, but had absolutely no effect upon his progress.

Cursing under his breath, Erik rolled clear of the maddened charge, reaching out again for any metal within range. His senses immediately detected the medical paraphernalia sitting at his friend's bedside, but he daren't touch any of that for fear of causing further harm. The rails on the bed, on the other hand, were certainly not necessary, and, as he dodged another clumsy blow from a man who was clearly more used to using brute force than anything else, he yanked them free to slam his adversary in the back of the head, causing him to stumble forward with a cry of surprise.

Taking advantage of the giant's momentary disorientation he twisted the metal again, pinning the big mutant's arms to his sides, and ignoring the roar of rage his actions provoked. Backing up until his back touched the wall, he darted across the space between them in three long stride, planting both feet on the man's chest and knocking him onto the floor. Turning the fall his action's caused into a neat summersault, he tore the last of the metal free of the bed, calling the rod to his hands, and swinging it the moment his fingers closed around the comforting familiarity of a material he knew so well.

Swift as he had been, he wasn't quick enough.

The giant tore free of his metal bindings a moment before Erik could drive the rod home, seizing the metal implement in both hands and using it to literally fling the metal bender across the room. There was no cabinet to break his fall this time, and he crashed into the wall with enough force to make his head ring. Staggering drunkenly, he fought his way to his feet, his mind sluggishly searching for something large enough to stop this brute of a man in his tracks. He had a brief flash of sharpened steel, surgical instruments he had only just realized were present, before a thick hand closed about his throat and he was being pressed up against the wall as Raven screamed.

"Erik!"

His concentration broken by the sudden, urgently apparent need to _breathe_, Erik abandoned the weapons in favor of trying to pry his opponent's hands away from his throat. The giant's limb was immovable, however, no matter how hard he struggled, and he was cursing himself in every language he knew for being a fool when his adversary's eyes widened in sudden shock. His body jerked; once, twice, and a third time, and then he was staggering back, arms flaying as he released Erik. The metal bender fell to his knees, gasping for breath, but forced himself upright using the wall as a prop.

The sight that met his eyes could only be described as surreal.

His enemy was lying splayed on the floor, flat on his back, limbs spread, eyes unseeing. Standing over him, a bloody knife held in hands that were equally stained, was Raven, the look on her face one of absolute shock. Her eyes were fixed on her own hands, and Erik winced, realizing this was the first time the shapeshifter had ever taken a life.

He had never been so glad for her inability to follow orders.

"Raven." She jerked slightly, wide eyes flying up to meet his own, revealing the panic lingering in their hazel depths. "Thank you."

"He was going to kill you." Her voice was faint, her face as white as a sheet, and, as if suddenly aware that she was holding it, she dropped the bloodied knife as though she had been scalded. "Oh, God!"

"Raven!" Crossing the room swiftly, he seized a hold of her forearms, shaking her gently and forcing her to focus on him, and not the crimson liquid coating her hands. "Raven, you did what you had to do. It was either him or me, and I'm grateful that it wasn't me. I need you to focus right now. We need to get out of here."

"R-right." Shakily, she nodded, and Erik stepped away with a sigh of relief.

That relief was short-lived as several, loud gunshots rent the air, and he remembered with a sudden shock of clarity that Wade had been here as well. He moved towards the open door, intent on hunting the swordsman down, but then hesitated, remembering the man's earlier words. Leaving Charles alone and unguarded was _not_ a wise decision at this time, and so he swung back around again, marching across the room to the telepath's bedside. Removing every attachment he could fine he hauled Charles' limp frame bodily over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Turning back to Raven, he noted with approval that the shapeshifting girl was retrieving several of the _clean_ knives he had been eyeing before the giant managed to pin him, sliding them up her sleeves.

All that training had paid off after all.

"We need to get out of here," he told her, in response to the questioning glance she threw his way. Her face contorted, and he saw the argument that was coming long before she actually uttered it aloud.

"But what about..."

"Hank and the others will have to take care of themselves." Pausing at the doorway, he waited just long enough to ensure their way out was clear, then he turned back to her. "We _need_ to go."

Swallowing abruptly she nodded, moving past him at his beckoning to lead the way out. Erik followed on her heels, trying not to think just how alike to abandonment this felt.

**So...I'm late. Really, **_**really**_** late. I wouldn't say the delay is due to writer's block, really, because it was more a case of having multiple endings in mind and not being sure which one I wanted to use in order to introduce the next arc. The one I have chosen involves a little more action, the introduction of a few extra characters who will play a pivotal role in the third (and final) act, both OC and not(none of those in this chapter are OC, I just poached them off Marvel, don't tell), and several more chapters than I intended to take to finish this. Anyway, my apologies for the delay, and a warm ****welcome and thank you for the reviews to **Zelda12343, **who read this act's predecessor, and **animeparody**. The time you people take to leave your feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: You know what, I'm really sorry, you guys. Not only have I been horribly unreliable when it comes to an update schedule, but this story is now running off on wild tangents of its own. This outcome was not at all PLANNED, but the story is either moving this way, or not moving at all, so I chose the lesser evil. Also, a big thanks to Jessica, who reviewed Act I. The one thing I hate about anonymous reviews is that there is no way to respond to them, so I can't let you guys know how much I appreciate your feedback.**

**Anyway, on with the chapter. A fair warning, though, my spellchecker spontaneously stopped working. My computer hates me. :D**

**Quote: ** "The only thing sure to happen if things get bad is that they'll get worse."-A. Nostaw

**/Chapter 24\**

**-Duck and Cover-**

Moira had fled the kitchen without ever questioning Hank's order. She was unarmed, without powers, and certainly in no fit state to be fighting mutants. Hugging her bandaged wrist to her chest, she shot up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her, only to freeze at the sight which confronted her upon mounting them. She had only a moment to absorb the scene playing out before her. Just a bare second to make what was most likely the stupidest decision of her entire life, and one she would never be able to bring herself to regret.

Mutant or not, the swordsman didn't see her coming until she had tackled him to the floor, drawing his attention away from Leonard and Emily, the little girl clutched protectively in the surgeon's arms. Praying the man would have the good sense to make the most of the opportunity she had given him, Moira struggled against her much stronger opponent, not at all surprised to find herself thrown off less than a minute after she had crashed into the enemy, slamming into the wall with enough force to rob her body of whatever breath she had left.

Seeing the flash of steel coming out of the corner of her eye, she reacted on instinct, rolling clear of the blow and letting the blade pass through the wall instead. The swordsman seemed more amused by her attempts to escape than anything else, his former prey entirely forgotten as he adjusted his focus to land solely upon herself.

"Honestly," he muttered aloud. "The stupidity of you people never ceases to amaze me. You don't even have a _weapon_, lassie, what were you expecting to do?"

"Go down fighting," she answered him determinedly, finally managing to regain her feet, and meeting his mirthful gaze with a black glare. "Or would you prefer I simply rolled over and died?"

"I have no objections to you making this interesting, ma'am." The salute that accompanied his words was mocking, and Moira knew she was being toyed with. "But I _am_ under a very specific set of orders that _demands_ I take as many prisoners as possible. You," he added flippantly, "seem like an easy target." There was a rumble from downstairs, and the sound of something heavy impacting against wood. The force was enough to make the house tremble, and the swordsman's expression morphed into a frown. "Especially seeing as my teammates have _very_ little self control."

Moira took a step back, eyeing the doors on either side of the hallway, and wondering which was the likeliest bet for freedom. She doubted she would be able to outrun this man, this _mutant_, but she refused to believe there was no way out. Downstairs was out of the question, but there was still the chance she could make the height of the second floor work to her advantage. Still smiling, the swordsman took a step towards her. Moira braced herself, ready to flee, but before either of them could make another move a third party entered the fray.

"Step _away_ from her." The voice was familiar, and she could not conceal the wave of relief that she was sure flashed across her face as she swung around to stare at the young Detective behind her. Nicholas' gun was leveled with unerring certainty at the swordsman, James flanking his shoulder, also armed, but looking a lot less confident. "Behind me, Moira."

The former CIA agent hurried to obey, just waiting for the moment the swordsman would move again. He did not seem at all intimidated by the weapon being pointed at him. In fact, when she turned back to face him, she found him grinning with that same easy confidence as he had first addressed her with.

"You must be Detective Nicholas Reeve," he stated brightly. "The one who sicced the strays on us. Did Creed tell you how much fun we had muzzling the lot of them?"

Nicholas did not reply, but there was a tautness to his frame that belied the calmness his face displayed. Moira tentatively rested a hand on his arm, trying to insure the swordsman's mind games didn't end with all of them dead. She was tempted to filch the other gun off James, but a wrong move now could cause this whole situation to explode in their faces, and that was the last thing _any_ of them needed.

"They put up a good fight, you know." Removing his second blade from its sheath, the swordsman twirled them lazily, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Much better than Las Vegas' finest. For police officers, your colleagues were surprisingly inept."

The Detective's hand twitched, and Moira prayed the man would remember that his 'gift' didn't work unless he was standing _right_ beside a mutant.

"Your partner got away," the man continued conversationally. "But, if necessary, we can find him again. Do you _really_ want to protect this woman?" He waited a beat, before adding, "I'm not going to _kill_ her."

"And you think that makes it alright?" Nick snapped tersely.

"It makes it easier," he shrugged, unconcerned. "But I didn't really expect you to fall for that line, guv'nor. In fact, I was hoping you wouldn't."

"Don't try it!" Nick warned, jerking his hands slightly. "You're _not_ taking her, and you're not going to walk away without paying for what you've done."

"Well, I suppose if I can't take her." He spun his blades in a slow circle, taking a step forward. "I'm just going to have to remove her from the equatation altogether, along with everyone else in this place."

**1st Class**

A breath.

A whisper.

A million different sounds she should have known, but didn't, intermingling with one another to create a cacophony of confusion. They joined the sensation crawling beneath her skin, like a dozen nerves recently shocked to life, all voicing their complaints in unison. Her mind was buzzing, roving in widening circles of thought that refused to stand still for more than a brief second, traveling down paths beyond her control, racing in a thousand different directions at once. She sought stillness in the insanity that now surrounded her, but she could not find it, lost in a swirling mess of...of...she had no idea what, and that starkly relevant fact jerked her back to a consciousness with all the electricity a severe shock would have provided.

Kayla gave a choked sob as cognition brought with it the full effect of her injuries. Pain spread from every nerve ending, turning her entire body into one, burning flame of agony. She wanted to writhe, desperate to relieve the pain, but knew that moving would only make matters worse. Instead she simply curled in on herself, shivering violently, and trying to stifle the whimpers of torment she could not stop making.

"Kayla?" The hand that touched her was large and gentle, but she shuddered anyway, shying away from the physical contact. The owner of the disembodied voice persisted, the hand following her movement, and grasping a loose hold on her bruised shoulder. "Kayla, it's all right now. They've gone."

It wasn't all right. It could _never_ be all right, but she didn't have the strength to utter that thought aloud. Instead she forced her eyes open, blinking back tears as she waited for her vision to clear, the drab, grey walls of her current location slowly swimming back into focus, along with Fred's genuinely concerned expression.

"Hey," he grunted softly, once her eyes came to rest on him. As he removed his hand from her shoulder she saw the manacles and chains binding his wrists together. Adamantium. The only thing that could hope to hold the Tank. "Stryker and Mr. S are gone," he stated, a trifle uncertainly. "They took Phoenix with them."

Of course that had. She should have killed the girl. It would have been a mercy compared to what the Strykers were bound to do to her now. But she couldn't think about that now. There were others. Others who were _her_ responsibility, and their welfare still fell under the sphere of her protection, such as it was now.

"What..." Her voice came out as a hoarse croak. She stopped a moment, swallowing against the horrid dryness of her throat. "What about the others?"

"There are a few here with us." He nodded towards someone she could not see, his large form blocking them from her vision, or perhaps them from seeing her. "I assume the others were loaded up in different trucks."

"Trucks?" Her mind was still foggy, and she could not pinpoint their exact location, or why the room seemed to be shifting back and forth, a soft rumble permeating the stillness. The only thing clearly present in her memories was the mad dash for freedom they had attempted, only to find themselves confronted with Stryker Senior, and an army ready to bring them down. The aftermath of that had not been pretty, and she was fairly certain mutants had died in the resulting confrontation.

"We're being transferred." Fred's answer was simple and blunt. "Stryker has closed down the facility, and is moving us to a 'more secure location'."

They were still prisoners then. Still living in this nightmare. Closing her eyes, she exhaled deeply, trying to ignore the pain assaulting her from all sides. _This_ was why she had never tried to disobey Stryker before. This was why she had submitted humbly, never overstepping the line because she _knew_ what would lie on the other side. She wasn't surprised by any of this, merely saddened, and it was with the despairing weight of resignation weighing on her shoulders that she opened her eyes again.

"Did we succeed, Freddie?" She didn't think she would be able to stand it if he told her no. If he looked her in the eye and explained that everything she had just sacrificed had been for naught. He turned away from her a moment, and she held her breath, waiting for the mortal blow that would surely finish off any fighting spirit she had left within her.

"Mr. S didn't bring back any prisoners."

She exhaled in a rush, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears pooling in them. No prisoners, which meant Moira McTaggert's friends were either dead or free. Either fate was better than this, she supposed, but for now she would cling to naïve hope it was the latter, no matter how likely such an outcome might be. This couldn't be for nothing. She wouldn't _let_ it be.

Bracing herself for the inevitable pain of movement, she slowly edged herself up into a sitting position, breathing shallowly so as to not disturb her bruised ribs. As soon as she felt steady enough to remain in place without clinging for dear life to the bench upon which she had been laid, she risked glancing up to study the other occupants of the trailer she now realized she must be inside. They were all faces she recognized, every last one of them, some more so than others, and they all wore looks of such absolute terror that she couldn't help but feel guilty for having pulled them all into this. Her only comfort was that Emily was not among them. She was safe, far away from all this, and far away from Stryker, who could have used her for leverage had he chosen to. She wished she had been able to do the same for Phoenix, for every other young mutant in her charge, but it was too late for such vain hopes now.

"Kayla." Fred disturbed her reverie with his soft intrusion, and she turned slowly back around to face him, taking note of the visible injuries on the heavily built young man's face. It must have been quite a hit to leave a mark on that impervious shell, and she winced, remembering she was to blame for that as well. "What do we do now?"

"Nothing." Leaning her head back against the side of the trailer, she closed her eyes, feeling every last tired, sore, and aching muscle in her body. "There's nothing more we can do, Freddie," she continued softly. "We're done."

**1st Class**

Erik had barely taken more than three steps out the doorway before he realized those who had infiltrated the surgery had not come alone. He could not _see_ the backup they had brought with them, but the metal in their clothes and their guns gave them away, and he did not hesitate to seize Raven's arm, jerking the startled shapeshifter down a side alley to avoid walking straight into the trap their enemy had laid.

"Erik?" Even without knowing what he was doing, Raven had enough sense to keep her voice hushed as he pulled her down behind the nearest dumpster, gently lowering Charles to the ground, and ensuring the telepath was well out of sight. "What is it?"

"We're not alone."

The female mutant's face paled, and he saw her fingers reaching to touch the knives in her sleeves. What good they would do them against men armed with far more effective weapons he did not know, but he had to recognize her courage under the circumstances.

"Stay here," he ordered, carefully pinpointing the nearest of his adversaries in his mind. "I'm going to try and draw them away from you."

"What? Erik, no!" She seized a hold of his arm, preventing him from moving away from her. "No, we have to stay together! I can't get Charles out of here by myself."

"_Neither_ of us is getting out of here if I don't do something now," he told her firmly, trying to pry her hand away. "Raven, I _need_ to."

"You _can't_." She tightened her grip, refusing to release him. "Erik, you _can't_ leave me here alone."

"Stryker Senior is here," he tried to reason with her, all too aware of the metal closing in around them. They were running out of time..."He has to be. This wasn't an attack to kill, he came here to get something."

"Charles?" Her gaze flickered to her brother, then back to him. "_Us_?"

"I don't know." And he had never felt so useless for not having answers that could very well save their lives. "But I'm not letting him take Charles, and that means we _need_ a distraction."

"You can't do it by yourself, Erik. You _saw_ what he brought with him, whose to say he doesn't have more men like that?"

"I know. I can handle it."

"No, you _can't_!" she argued vehemently. "Erik, maybe you _weren't_ injured in that last battle, but some random telepath was playing around in your _head_! I had to _help_ you take down that monster in there, and I shouldn't have _had_ to. You're not fit for battle right now, and if you go in there alone..."

"I'll be fine, Raven." The truth was she was right, but Erik _would _not, and _could_ not, let Stryker get his hands on Charles. He had achieved the first step, getting the telepath and Raven out of the line of fire, but there was still a long way to go if he meant to get them out of this mess completely, and not just straight out of the frying pan and into the fire. "I _have_ to go."

"Nobody is going anywhere." There was a step behind him, and Erik cursed, realizing his peripheral awareness had apparently taken a vacation along with his common sense. Stryker's telepath had a lot to answer for. Hoping Charles was out of sight, he got slowly to his feet, before turning to face the bearer of the weapon pointed at his head.

_No_, he corrected himself with a wave of dread, _not mine_.

The surgeon was standing stock still, his stance rigid, his arms wrapped protectively around the young girl in his arms. It was against that golden head that the muzzle was pressed, a threat great enough to freeze him in his tracks. He deliberately paid no attention to the man holding the gun, however, pointing his qustion at Leonard.

"Are you okay?"

"What the hell kind of a question is that?" Leonard snapped, quietening his voice when Emily gave a small whimper, though the honesty in the threat he made next still remained. "Make the wrong move, Mr. Lensherr, and I _will_ kill you."

Erik nodded, conveying his understanding in that brief movement, before turning his attention onto the man, dressed in black and masked, currently in control of this situation. There were others in the alleyway now too, both behind and before him, too many variables in too small a space.

"How fast are you, metal bender?" The man holding the gun to Emily's head asked softly, menacingly. "Fast enough to gamble with her life?"

"What do you want?" he demanded, keeping his tone calm and level.

"Pete here is going to hand you a syringe." The man nodded at his colleague, who swiftly complied with the implied order, holding out the profferred object, and whipping his hand back as soon as Erik had taken it.

"What's in it?" he asked simply, never breaking eye contact with his enemy. Emily was crying now, softly, and Leonard was shushing her gently, a feral glare focussed on the cause of the girl's distress.

"A suppresant," the man replied. "Something to insure you don't cause too much trouble. You're going to take it, and then so is your little blond friend. If you don't..." He nodded his head towards the weapon in his hands, no further words needed to describe his intent.

Erik hesitated with the needle in hand, frozen in indicesion. Were he at his best, there was a chance he would be able to stop the bullet in that gun before it even left the muzzle. Before it robbed the world of a young life innocent of any wrongdoing. There was a _chance_, but he had rarely had to test his skills to that extreme. Even when he had had Charles point a weapon at his head there had been a relatively large distance between his brow and the danger. Here there was no room for mistakes, and he was still recovering from whatever Stryker's telepath had done to him. It was too much of a gamble, and he wouldn't be able to face _himself_, much less the surgeon, if he cost that little girl her life.

On the other hand, there was no guarantee that Stryker would spare her _or_ her adoptive father should Erik surrender willingly. William Stryker Senior was just as ruthless as his son, but with a mind that was far steadier and less prone to making mistakes. The man was wise enough not to take to the battlefield in person until the fight was well and truly over, and Erik was sure he was calling the shots from somewhere nearby. Should Erik give in as this man wanted him to, Stryker would be waiting to gloat over his prisoners, and kill anyone who might fall under the classification of a loose thread. It was a lose-lose situation, and, try though he might, Erik couldn't see his way out of it.

"I'm waiting, Mr. Lensherr." The hostage taker was getting impatient, losing his cool so that a little of the tension he had been hiding bled through into his voice. "You have ten seconds until...Argh!"

The cry made the metal bender start, his breath catching in his throat as the hand holding the gun jerked ever so slightly, the man's other limb lifting to his neck to pull free the dart that had imbedded itself there.

"What the _hell_?" he gasped in genuine bewilderment, the men about him shifting uneasily.

"Sir?"

One of them spoke, and Erik wondered if they were truly oblivious to the fact their leader had just forsaken his advantage. The muzzle of his weapon was pointed at the ground now, and the surgeon was already moving to position himself between the gunman and Emily. He needn't have bothered, however, for the next moment the man had keeled over, hitting the ground with a decisive thud. The soldier who had spoken, 'Pete', instantly swung on Erik, his weapon raised, eyes blazing with alarm and anger.

"What did you d-do..." he stammered the last word, wavering on his feet, and the next moment he himself had plummeted to the pavement. Erik didn't wait to see the others fall, content with just hearing them do so. Calling the leader's weapon to his hand, he spun around to face the cause of what could either be their salvation, or their doom.

"I would really prefer it if you _didn't _shoot me." The man standing before him now was armed, but his weapon was not giving off any resonance of metal, and Erik realized belatedly that the darts that had, he presumed, _tranquilized _the soldiers surrounding them were free of the substance as well. Which meant the firearm pointed in his direction was most likely not something he would be able to stop should his new enemy choose to fire it. "Blood tends to stain."

"Who are you?" He wasn't in the mood for games, and, unless this man was either a metal bender himself or a _very_ quick dodger, the gun in Erik's hands was just as dangerous to him as the weapon in _his_ hands was to Erik.

"My name is Ronin," the stranger answered him evenly. "Ronin Clinton. Agent. Len knows me."

"Is that true?" Erik turned on the surgeon, who for once seemed to have lost his scowl beneath an expression of overwhelming relief.

"He's on our side," Leonard nodded. "If you're picking sides, that is. And if you believe there are only two." Turning to Ronin, he added, "How did you find us?"

"James still had his tracker activated," Ronin explained, apparently deciding Erik was no longer a threat as he holstered his metalless weapon. "Natalie wanted to track him down and _demand_ why he had left his post. Turned out to be a good idea, too," he surveyed the still forms around them, "Stryker is stepping up his game."

"Where _is_ Nat?" Len asked, shifting Emily's weight in his arms. The girl had stopped crying now, but she was keeping her face hidden in the doctor's shoulder, unwilling as of yet to face the world.

"Working on getting the others out of the house," Ronin explained, drawing nearer, his gaze flicking to Raven and the unconscious form at her side. "Sontag is here."

"Bloody hell," Leonard growled darkly.

"Exactly." Waving a hand in Charles direction, Ronin addressed Erik, "That the telepath?"

"Yes." His answer was clipped, but honest, because he really didn't think there was much point in hiding right now. For all their efforts at secrecy, they were far more exposed than they had ever imagined, and Erik was beginning to feel seriously out of his depth.

It was not a feeling he was either familiar or comfortable with.

"Good," Ronin did not waste another second. "We need to move, and _now_. It won't be long before Stryker realizes his team has been taken out and sends in the big guns. Or, well, the _bigger_ guns."

"How many of you are there?" Leonard asked, and Erik waited expectantly for an answer, not entirely surprised by its content when it came.

"Just the two of us, Len, I'm afraid," Ronin grimaced. "We didn't come here expecting a firefight. Grab your friend," he nodded at Erik. "We're getting out of here."

Erik moved to obey, hoisting Charles back into position over his shoulders, mentally apologizing for the rough treatment that was more than likely to aggravate his chest wound. He turned then, intent on asking how Ronin meant to get them out unseen, but before he could utter a word the ground beneath him began to move with a rumbling, screeching roar that preceded, by bare seconds, the utter destruction of the building him and Raven had escaped from moments before.

The same building Hank and Moira were still inside.

"No!" Erik didn't realize he was moving until Ronin deliberately placed himself between him and the route back to the surgery, his blue eyes meeting Erik's own with a determination that was oddle reminiscent of Charles, if only because the telepath was the only person he knew who had ever willingly placed themselves between him and his goal. It was never a terribly safe place to be, but the man before him seemed entirely oblivious to this. "Nat will get them out if she can," he spoke quickly, but insistently, referring to his mysterious partner. "We _can't_ go back now, you have to trust me."

_Trust him?_ It was a ludicrous request, even more so when Erik considered that it was at _him_ the plea had been aimed. He had trouble trusting people he had known for almost a year, let alone someone he had just met. Except...Except _Charles_ would have trusted, without question and perhaps without even shuffling through Ronin's mind to be sure he was telling the truth. He _would_ have trusted, and, right now, Erik was more willing to bet their lives on Charles' judgement than his own.

"Fine," he retorted sharply. "But if you're lying..."

"Threaten to disembowel me later," Ronin interrupted him before he could finish making his threat. "We're about to have company."

He moved swiftly, dodging around the unconscious forms littering the alleway and not hesitating before swinging left at the end of the narrow aisle. Following close on his heels, with Raven a mere step behind him and the Doctor bringing up the rear, Erik had a chance to appreciate the sheer competency before him. _Agent_ Ronin Clinton, whomever he was, was no rookie. His movements were sure, confident, and executed with a catlike stealth and grace that reminded Erik of his own training. This man was no untrained Sentinel, he was a professional, and Erik honestly didn't know whether to be glad of that or not.

Their flight from the surgey was a series of starts and stops as Ronin navigated his way out of the trap Stryker had laid, avoiding the sentries and soldiers when he could, taking them out with calm efficiency when he couldn't. Erik chose not to try and interfere, and it proved to be a wise decision as they finally made it to their apparent destination-a wide, open square ensconced between four large buildings-without having engaged a single hostile in combat.

"Now what?" Leonard broke the silence as soon as they stopped moving, lowering himself to a sitting position against the brick wall of the nearest building, which was currently serving the double purpose of blocking them from the view of anyone who might happen to enter the square.

"We wait," Ronin answered calmly. "Natalie knows to meet me here once she gets out."

"And if she doesn't?" Erik was truly beginning to believe Len was a pessimist. But then, he was most likely a hypocritical judge. "The bloody building _exploded_, Ronin!"

"Sontag's shockwaves don't involve fire or smoke," replied Ronin. "They only destroy. Provided they weren't crushed to death, they'll be here. Our pick up will get us out of here regardless. We called it as soon as we found out Stryker was here, Len."

"Whose '_we_'?" Gently lowering Charles to the ground a second time, positioning the telepath's head to rest in Raven's lap, Erik swung about to face their 'savior'. "Who are you? Why did you help us? What do you _want_?"

"I already told you who I am." Hooded blue eyes gazed back at him, refusing to give away anything, and Erik felt his anger growing, his helplessness in this situation wearing on him in a way few things could.

"You told me your name," he corrected sharply. "Nothing more. Who do you work for? Stryker?"

Ronin snorted. "If I worked for Stryker, you'd be in his hands right now. Or did you _sense_ me coming, Erik Lensherr?" There was a challenge in those words, but Erik forced himself to bite back his immediate, _natural_ response, choosing instead to listen. "No, you didn't," Ronin answered his own question. "I could have taken you out as easily as I did them, and I probably would have earned myself a medal for it. But I didn't, because I'm _on your side_. Is that truly so hard to believe?"

Erik shook his head, before answering in a tone laden with sarcasm. "What do _you_ think?"

"I think the world handed you a pile of shit," was the candid response. "Well, I'm offering you a shovel. It's your choice whether you dig your way out or use it to bury yourself. "

Erik considered that for a moment, exchanging a glance with Raven, who offered him the barest of nods. _She_ was willing to follow his lead on this one, he just wished _he_ was.

"Alright," he conceded at last. "If you'd wanted us dead or captured you would have done it already. I get that. What I don't believe is that you're just helping us out of the goodness of your heart. Everyone has an agenda, _Agent_ Clinton. What is yours?"

"For the moment, it's surviving. In the long run?" The man shrugged casually, running a hand through his blond hair. "We're trying to stop Stryker from creating a hell on earth of his own design."

"What do you mean?" Raven's tone was hoarse, still ringing with the left over vestiges of fear, but steady. The shapeshifter was proving herself on all counts today, and Erik couldn't have been more proud.

"It's not something that can be explained in a hurry," Ronin brushed off her question. "I'll explain everything once we're in the air."

"The _air_?" Leonard, whom Erik had almost believed to have dosed off, Emily nestled against his shoulder, jerked upright at that, disturbing his slumbering charge.

"You didn't think we were walking, did you?" Ronin smiled. "We've got an airlift coming in within the next two minutes."

"And you don't think Stryker is going to notice the helicopter landing in the middle of Vegas?" the surgeon remarked dryly, earning himself an unrepentant shrug.

"Oh, he'll notice all right. Fat chance he'll get here before we're gone, though," the blond man trailed off for a moment, before his face brightened considerably. "Natalie! Glad you could join us."

Erik turned to greet the newcomers, his eyes sliding across the battered front they presented. Moira was covered in a fine layer of dust, bleeding from a dozen different shallow wounds, and cradling her bandaged wrist for all she was worth. She was alive, though, and breathing, so Erik moved his attention to the man walking at her side. Nicholas was a little more worse for wear, the hair to the left of his temple matted with a thick layer of blood, but he was on his feet, at least, if a little unsteady. Erik's gaze then landed upon the final member of the party, Ronin's partner, and a sight that made his mind jerk to a complete and utter standstill.

Grey eyes, red hair, and a face that, whilst older, was all too familiar. The woman standing before him now was the spitting image of the young telepath who had torn her way into his mind, and it was all he could do to hide his shock.

"Where's James?" Leonard broke the silence, his voice flat, as though he expected the words that came from the woman's-_Natalie's_-mouth.

"He's dead," she announced quietly, a flicker of regret flashing briefly through her eyes. "Wilson ran him through."

"Good God..." Leonard instinctively tightened his hold on Emily, closing his eyes, and Erik found himself turning to Moira, asking after Hank's whereabouts without uttering a word. The CIA agent merely shook her head in exhaustion, and Erik felt his heart sink.

Hank wasn't dead, he could read that much in her eyes, but, if he wasn't here either then...

"Stryker has McCoy," Natalie finished his thought for him, speaking to Ronin, her voice heavy with frustration and disappointment. "I wasn't fast enough, and when Sontag blew the place..."

"We'll get him back, Nat," Ronin interjected quietly. "For now, we have to concentrate on getting these people to safety."

His words were punctuated by the steady thrum of helicopter blades, their approaching salvation, but Erik didn't look up. They had failed here today, failed miserably for the second time. He was beginning to wonder how many more times they could fall down before they wouldn't be able to get back up again.

**P.S 'Sontag' is Phillipa Sontag, AKA Arclight. According to Wikipedia she is a 'A super-strong mutant, her mutation allows her to release shockwaves and cause disorintation to her enemies, cause objects to shatter, and to generate earth tremors in limited areas.. '. She's only going to be a cameo in this, just because I wanted her to blow stuff up. :)**

**P.P.S Ronin and Natalie are the catalyst that reveal the true engineering behind the Sentinels, hopefully the last 'guest stars' who are going to force their way into this party. **

**P.P.P.S-As an apology for my slackness as of late, I've included a couple of 'flashback' scenes here. Originally, I was going to incorporate them into the story, but I don't like having fanfiction written from and OC's point of view more than every once in a while, so these scenes were ditched. One of them actually takes place a little while back (somewhere between Stryker making it back to his facility and Stryker Senior showing up in Las Vegas. Slight timin issues there, I think, but, oh, what the hell?), whilst the other is earlier in the same day as this chapter.**

**FLASHBACK 1-Grudge**

"Well, _damn_."

There was a moment's silence as the black clad woman considered the uttered words, her green eyes narrowing just enough to be threatening as she shifted her stance slightly, making the overhead lights glance across her auburn mane.

"That's it?" she demanded, tone tight with cool fury. "Six months. Six _bloody_ months worth of hard work, sweat, blood, and tears, and _that's_ all you have to say?" Slamming a hand into the wall, she ignored the shock of pain that radiated up her arm from her flattened palm, the sting only slightly lessened by the gloves adorning her hands. "He's _ruined_ everything!"

The three men who had accompanied them both exchanged a wary glance, before retreating further down the hallway, obviously deciding this was an outburst they were better off not witnessing. Her partner merely studied her a moment, blue eyes hinting at amusement, but beneath that lay a heavier sense of disappointment, and perhaps frustration. He was just as put out by this as she was, he was simply better at concealing his chagrin beneath a fine veneer of sarcasm and humor.

This wasn't quite so _personal_ for him.

"Define 'everything'," he responded levelly.

She glared at him, before turning in a slow circle, waving her arms suggestively at the empty corridor in which they stood. Less than twelve hours ago, that same corridor had been filled with a maddened rush of activity. With a gunfight against a foe who had no chance of winning their way out to freedom, but who tried anyway. With _evidence_. Now it was all gone. Everyone and everything that had once been inside this facility had up and vanished, and she had only _one_ individual to blame for all this.

"There is _nothing_ left, Ronin! And after what happened at that meeting last night, it's going to be harder than ever to pin anything on either of those bastards! They've given him _permission _to do whatever he wants without consequence!"

"Have they?" Shifting away from the wall upon which he had been leaning, her partner moved to stand beside her, though he pointedly made no move to touch her. "Stryker may have won the support he needs to crackdown on the mutant 'problem', Nat, but he'll slip up sometime, and we just have to be ready when he does. Besides, Agent Black isn't here. What does that tell you?"

"That Jimmy up and did a runner on us," she snapped back angrily, earning herself an amused grin. She almost punched him for that.

"_Our _Jimmy? Running _away_?" He shook his head slightly. "That kid was too deeply involved here to run away. Even if he's not loyal to us, he cared about his charges, probably a good deal more than he should have. No, if he's gone, it's either _with_ our target because it was necessary for the welfare of the assets, or because a certain Institution was in need of his talents."

"Maybe." He was most likely right. Agent Black had been given this post purposefully, not only for his particular skill set, but because his entire profile suggested he would get too deeply involved. She didn't have to admit to that out loud though. "But, even if he did break his cover for a good reason, we have still lost whatever ground we may have gained. Stryker has the lead again."

"So we'll take it back. It's not a big deal, Nat."

"If we can't prove that Stryker..." she began, only to have him shush her with a slight wave of one hand.

"We'll prove it," he stated firmly. "We just need a little more time."

"Our time is running out," she uttered quietly in response, letting the last vestiges of her anger drain away to be replaced by worry. "If we don't win enough support, thousands of innocent people will die."

"Hundreds already have, Nat." He surveyed her grimly, head cocked slightly to the side in an inquisitive gesture. "It's too late to bring them back."

"I know that."

"And it may be too late to save the others."

"I know that, too." She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly as she met his gaze evenly. "But we have to try."

"Agreed." Straightening, he turned his attention back to the facility they had been sent to infiltrate. The _empty_ facility, nothing more now than a hollow husk now. "I can finish up here. Why don't you head back to HQ? That way, if Jimmy decides to call in, you can give him an earful in person."

She smiled predatorily at the prospect, swinging on her heel in a single, graceful movement and striding without hesitation away from the wreckage of six months of wasted work. Oh, _yes_, Jimmy was certainly going to get an earful over this. He should just count himself lucky meeting with him in person would be considered a breach of Standard Operating Procedures.

He wouldn't have walked away from such a confrontation.

He would have _crawled_.

**FLASHBACK 2-Shadow **

"This is _hell_."

Daniel hadn't had a weekend this bad in a long time, and that was saying something.

Generally, when people spoke of a long weekend they meant a holiday. A couple of extra days off work before returning to slaving away. For a police detective, a long weekend meant carnage, and the sight he was looking at now seemed a pretty good embodiment of the complete pile of absolute _crap_ the last few days had been. He hadn't seen a crime scene like this in...in...Actually, he didn't think he had _ever_ seen a crime scene this brutal, and nerves he had long since thought deadened were reminding him he _did_ have a conscience hidden somewhere beneath his near suicidal sense of humor.

He really, _really_ needed for this to just be _over_.

"Victims four, five, and six." Officer Decker joined him in surveying the wreckage, his face grim and weary, displaying a visage just about as haggard as Dan wagered his own was at the moment. The captain had been pushing them all hard ever since the second murder proved their offender was apparently on a spree, and that pressure had only gotten worse after the third death. After this little addition, Dan doubted he would be sleeping at all. "We think they're part of the homeless group that hangs around this area. Nobody has called in any missing persons over the past few hours, and this isn't recent enough that not _one_ of them would have been noticed missing. We have no ID on any of them yet, and it's going to be pretty tricky, considering how little there is left to work with."

'Little', Dan thought morbidly, was an overstatement.

"This doesn't make sense, Decker," he stated aloud, frowning at the sheer _mess_ that surrounded them. "Three kills in three days, and all of them relatively respectable citizens, then all of our sudden our guy kills three more in a backstreet alley all at once?"

"Evidence matches the other cases, Detective," Decker shrugged slightly. "It says this is our guy. Maybe he's frustrated?"

"Maybe." Dan's stomach was churning, and, considering he hadn't even had a chance to grab breakfast this morning, that was hardly a good sign. Something didn't sit right with this picture, but he was damned if he could figure out what it was. "Or maybe he's trying to get our attention. Did anybody call Nick about this?"

"He's not at the station," Decker answered immediately. "He came in early this morning, poured over a few files, then left again while you were cat napping on the Captain's couch." _Damn. Nobody was supposed to see that. _"Figured he found a place to crash for a few hours."

"Kid needs to find himself an apartment," Dan muttered, surveying the scene before him for the umpteenth time, and seeing nothing new. Sometimes he hated his job. _Vehemently_. It was almost a relief not to have Nicholas here, and he tactfully chose not to mention the fact Nick had left him an emergency contact number in the event he could not be reached by other means. The young man was good at his job, but he was also new, and Daniel was anticipating with loathing the moment when that fresh faced innocence faded away completely behind the same dulled senses that had overcome his own compunctions about viewing such sights. "Well, we're done here, in any case."

Decker made some sound of noncommittal agreement, and Dan turned away with a sigh. Usually, he would have had some random remark to make that would have lightened the mood, but there was just no way to make light of what was now irreversibly engraved upon his mind. He was more than ready for this to be over, and he knew everyone else was too. The entire LA police force had been drawn into this one, and he doubted there was a single officer who would walk away without a few mental scars when all was said and done.

"Pack it up, Decker," he said over his shoulder. "Let's get this place cleaned up as quickly as possible. We don't need anyone else seeing this if we can help it."

Turning his back, he crossed the street towards his own vehicle, sliding inside the comfortingly pristine interior. He needed to head back to the station and report to the Captain, but right now that prospect was about as appealing as a three week stakeout involving nothing but junk food for sustenance. He'd had his fair share of those during his career, that was for sure, and they weren't the type of assignments you looked back on with any resemblance of fondness. Starting the engine, he comforted himself with the knowledge that he'd at least be able to grab some decent coffee before marching into the lion's den, otherwise known as Captain Miller's office.

Waving to Officer Decker, he eased his vehicle out into the street, entirely oblivious to the crouched form folded neatly into the boot of his car.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N. Ugh...I really, _really_ hate getting sick. This chapter would have been written a lot sooner, but I was feeling so bleh I couldn't get any of my ideas to transfer to paper the way I wanted to. This chapter alone has been rewritten a half a dozen times, and it's _still_ only an in-betweener. Mostly, I'm just using this chapter to get the story-line back onto its original ending track. You also get a glimpse of what ACT III's plotline is going to be like here, so, enjoy. :D**

**Jessica: Hopefully this chapter goes a little way towards clearing up the character confusion. I know I introduced a lot of people over the past few chapters, but the confusion as to who was who was partially intentional. Most of the main characters had no idea what was going on, and the whole situation could have been summed up with the words 'BIG MESS'. Things will become clearer from here on in, I hope :-). Thanks for reviewing, and no worries about the anonymous thing. Wanting to reply to _EVERY_ review is the only reason it bothers me in the slightest. :D **

**Quote: ** "Some things are so unexpected that no one is prepared for them."-Leo Rosten

**/Chapter 25\**

**-Friends in Unexpected Places-**

Erik was not entirely surprised to find that once he woke up-because apparently Ronin Clinton was far sneakier with that tranquilizer than Erik had given him credit for-he was alone in a windowless, metalless room, hands fastened firmly behind his back by a plastic tie. Nor was he particularly astonished to see the auburn haired woman seated across from him, obviously awaiting his return to the conscious world. It was the type of thing that would have normally prompted anger, most likely nothing short of full blown rage, but right now he was simply too exhausted to do anything but give a wry smile.

Because, right now, he was not above wanting tolock himself up too.

"Well," he remarked aloud. "So much for Agent Ronin's promises of no ill will."

"My partner can be a tad naive from time to time," Natalie conceded, seated calmly on the other side of the table set between them, her elbows resting on the table and hands folded together. She looked tranquil, and deadly, her youth not enough of a mask to disguise the danger she posed. "But he did not lie. We have every intention of helping your friends, innocents who have become caught up in this out of sheer bad luck, and releasing them once they no longer require our aid. You, on the other hand, are something of a red hot poker, Mr. Lensherr. We must be careful not to get burnt."

Rising to her feet, she waved a hand towards the table between them, and the single, thick file laid atop its surface. "These papers," she began slowly. "Are the accumulated records we have put together of every murder, both here and abroad, in which it has been confirmed you played some part. It is a long list, Mr. Lensherr, and for most of the names scrawled across it you would be offered a commendation rather than punishment. Except the last few hundred, of course." She flipped the file open, revealing monotone photographs of wreckage floating aimlessly in still waters, bodies spread liberally throughout the torn and twisted metal. "Do you have any idea how many men you killed that day?"

It was asked casually, as though they were talking about nothing more than the weather, but the glint in her eyes told him she was entirely serious. Erik thought back to the day Charles had shared _his_ memories of what had occurred on that beach, then replied honestly. "Some."

"What about the people who died afterwards, Mr. Lensherr?" she demanded coolly. "What about the men? The women? the innocent children you pulled into a war none of them were ready to fight? Do you have any idea how many lives have been _ruined_ all because you got trigger happy when you should have turned and walked away?"

"I don't know," he answered quietly, and somewhat warily, because he'd recognized that wild look in her gray eyes. How could he not, when it stared back at him out of the mirror on a daily basis? That wariness would not stop him from seeking to prove the theory he had formed upon first laying eyes on the woman, however, even if he _did_ proceed with caution. "But I imagine yours was one of them. She's your sister, isn't she?"

"She?" Natalie sucked in a sharp breath, sitting down again, before eyeing him in apparent confusion. "Who is 'she'?"

"Stryker's telepath," he replied, conveying his internal certainty through the firmness of his words. "Red hair, gray eyes. She's too old to be your daughter, so you must be sisters."

"Stryker's tele...you mean she's alive? Jean is _alive_?"

"You didn't know?" Erik frowned.

"There was evidence...we found blood and...and." She raised a hand to cover her mouth, shock and joy warring for dominancy, interrogation forgotten beneath the crushing weight of relief that was tampered all too swiftly. "Stryker must have faked her death," she breathed the words out in a choked manner. "He knew we wouldn't stop looking for her unless..."

"Unless you thought she was dead," Erik supplied subduedly. "I am sorry, and you were right. This mess is my fault."

No more excuses. It was time to own up to the consequences of his thoughtless actions. It hadn't been Stryker's betrayal that led them to this, but his own retaliation, and he had stopped believing in his own justifications for that act a long time ago. Sooner or later, he was going to have to pay for what he had done in Cuba. It was looking to be sooner rather than later.

"It _is_ your fault," Natalie agreed without compunction. "And, if I had my way, I'd lock you up somewhere for the rest of your life to make you pay for the pain you've caused. But the agency to which I belong has other plans."

"Plans?" It was at that point in the conversation Erik started looking for escape routes. "I don't take kindly to following other peoples orders."

"_That_ is putting it mildly," Natalie smiled in bland amusement. "But that is not how the Agency works." Closing the file on the table, she pulled it back towards her chest, resting her arms atop it as she continued. "Ronin and I both belong to a covert operations unit known as MATAHA-that's Mutant Asset/Threat Assessment & Handling Agency, if you're wondering. Your 'Institution' has been a blip on our radar for quite some time, but you seemed to be managing on your own when others were not, so we left you to fend for yourselves. That was, unfortunately, our mistake. It turns out you were Stryker's goal all along, and the others he went after were merely a training exercise."

"He didn't train for nearly long enough," Erik remarked dryly.

"He still managed to seize one of your own," Natalie reminded him of Hank's capture. "No matter how awry his plans went."

"We'll get him back." It was a promise. A sheer statement of fact. Natalie seemed to take it at face value.

"I'm sure you will," she agreed simply, before changing the subject back to its original topic. "And we might be able to help you with that. MATAHA has been in existence for some time now, and is responsible for founding the support network consisting of the Sentinels, the Mavericks, various other informant groups, and registered safe havens."

"'Some time now'," Erik repeated, frowning. "What does that mean?"

"It means you weren't the first mutants we'd ever heard of," she replied instantly. "Sebastian Shaw was not a young man when you met him, Mr. Lensherr, and he was certainly not the only mutant of his generation. MATAHA was founded following the first discovery of the mutant phenomena in America, and we have since discovered that in many other countries the number of mutants in existence is much higher than in our own."

"So if you knew about us," Erik began, his voice musing. "Then why has this whole situation only come to a head now?"

Natalie lowered her gaze momentarily, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she decided just how much she was allowed to disclose to him. And _allowed_ was the key word here, because he may be a prisoner on the wrong side of an interrogation, but he _knew_ when someone was deliberately omitting facts. After a moment, however, the auburn haired woman simply shrugged, offering an abridged response.

"The man who founded MATAHA was of a different mindset to Stryker," she explained. "The decision was made, based on _his_ assessment of the situation, that the existence of mutants in the world wasn't an immediate threat. It was decided their existence would not be disclosed to the general public or to any of the defense forces, because agencies such as the CIA would no doubt see a mutant population as a danger. MATAHA, with authority coming from the highest powers in America, chose to monitor instead, trying to keep track of those mutants who rose to power and seemed to have an agenda beyond acceptable practices. Mutants like Shaw. Our duties included predicting all likely outcomes should the mutant issue come to light, which is why MATAHA covertly prompted such organizations as the Sentinels to form after Cuba. We already had most of the pieces in play, it was just a matter of getting the ball rolling."

"Then you suspected this would happen," Erik concluded. "That the world would turn on us?"

"We expected some repercussions, but nothing quite like this," Natalie corrected him. "Our hope, when we found out the CIA was working with you, was that you would prevent the Cuban Missile Crisis and therefore open up an opportunity to introduce mutants to the world in a favorable light. As you know all too well, events played out differently, and that door was slammed in our faces. We had to improvise."

"Your improvisation doesn't seem to have done much." Erik shook his head, not bothering to disguise his derision. "How many mutants has Stryker killed on your watch?"

Natalie tensed instantly, her eyes flashing with fury, but she took a moment to rein that anger in before actually formulating a response.

"We can't _stop_ Stryker," she admitted, though it clearly pained her to do so. "Not now, because _you_ gave him the opportunity he needed. Your actions in Cuba were all the prompt most of the other agencies needed to support him. Do you know that Stryker now has sanctification to do as he pleases, all because of what _you _did to those ships? It took him six months, but he has a license to kill now, and nobody is going to question him when he does. Don't go pointing fingers here, Mr. Lensherr, because you're not innocent enough to win a blame game."

"And I suppose them shooting on us was an _accident_?" Erik retorted scathingly. "Or perhaps you've forgotten that _they_ were the ones who fired on _us_?"

"So you chose to retaliate," Natalie answered him without flinching. "And played right into Stryker's hands. He _wanted_ you to fire back, Mr. Lensherr. He _wanted_ a reason to hunt your kind down and exterminate them. The attack on the CIA was the last straw in his intolerant mind, and he knew just how to push you into a corner so you'd give him what he wanted. You were duped."

"We were _betrayed_!" Erik corrected her vehemently. "It doesn't matter whether Stryker was the one out to get us or not, he wasn't the only one who made that decision to fire! Where were you then? You and your precious MATAHA?"

"You think showing our hand then would have _helped_ you?" She demanded incredulously. "If we had revealed ourselves to them, you wouldn't have had any help at all! MATAHA would have been shut down faster than you can blink, and there would have _been_ no rescue when Stryker cornered you in a dark alley and let his dogs tear you apart limb for limb!"

Reaching into the pocket of her jacket, she scattered a number of photos across the table, before selecting one from their number and holding it up.

"Wade Wilson," she began. "Mercenary. Swordsman. Mutant. Recruited by Stryker to hunt down and kill his own kind. He's the one who killed Agent Black, ran him through and left him to bleed out in the rubble." Selecting another picture from the pile, she continued, "Phillipa Sontag. Mutant. Capable of creating violent shock-waves and tremors. Recruited by Stryker to hunt down and _kill_ her own kind. She destroyed that surgery, and gave Stryker the opening he needed to kidnap your friend." A third portrait was seized, and all but thrust in Erik's face. "Michael Baer, AKA Blockbuster. Mutant. Recruited by Stryker to smash the hell out of anyone who got in his way. You've met him, I believe?" Tossing the photograph away, she picked up a fourth. "Victor Creed. Mutant. Over a hundred years old. Cold blooded killer who hunts for the thrill of it. Recruited by Stryker to _murder_." She slammed her hand down on the table, pinning the pictures beneath her splayed fingers. "Do you _see_ what's going on here, Lensherr? Stryker is using the monsters among you to finish you off one by one, but not even that is his true goal. Every time one of these bastards kills someone innocent, it's a _mutant_ killing a human. Do you have _any_ idea how many people those four alone have killed in the past month? It's in the _hundreds_, Lensherr, and only a fraction of those were mutants. Stryker is giving his colleagues a _reason_ to support him, and they're falling for it, hook, line, and sinker!"

Straightening slowly, Natalie took a step back, before extending her arms. "This," she stated flatly, "is what MATAHA is trying to stop. If we can pin all these deaths on Stryker, if we can _prove_ his involvement, he loses every ounce of credibility he has won."

Erik was silent for a long moment after that, absorbing the influx of information, before posing a quiet question. "This is who he sent after us?" He nodded his head at the photographs.

"Yes." Natalie answered quietly. "You're lucky you escaped from that trap alive. They're Stryker's lead Seeker Group. He sends them out to track down any mutants he thinks are too dangerous for him to 'play' with, and orders them to cause as much collateral damage as they can while they're at it. According to our intelligence in the area, these four took out three Mavericks and over two thirds of the Las Vegas Police Department before cracking down on your group. Vegas is in an uproar. Demanding justice. Death to all mutants. You get the picture."

"And you still think you can undo all this?" Erik did not bother hiding his skepticism.

"Stryker is going to slip up sooner or later," Natalie's gaze darkened, her lips thinning into a narrow line. "When he does, we're going to make him pay for every life he has ruined."

"Including yours?"

Natalie did not flinch at the question, meeting his inquiring gaze levelly as she nodded. "Including mine."

Reaching into another pocket in her coat, she slipped a smaller photograph onto the table. Erik hesitated a moment before picking it up, unsurprised to see the young face smiling back at him from the photo was close enough to Natalie's own he could have easily mistaken it for a childhood photo of the woman seated before him.

"This is Stryker's telepath?" Natalie asked in a subdued tone, and Erik found himself nodding.

"Yes," he confirmed, laying the picture down with infinite care, recognizing it for the memento it was. "She kept her appearance hidden for the most part, but whilst she was..._controlling_ me," the words sounded bitter on his tongue, "she seemed to have trouble keeping up the facade. Her control slipped a few times, and this was the face I saw." He paused a moment. "How long had you known she was a mutant?"

"Before she vanished?" Taking the photo back, Natalie stared at it wistfully for a moment, before that trace of humanity vanished beneath her usual stoic mask. Erik couldn't read this woman's face, and he had no idea what she might be thinking as she continued, "I was ten years old when my sister was born. She was a smart girl, always a step ahead of everyone else her age, and most of those older than her. I think I was the first to realize there was something different about her, but I wasn't sure what that might be until shortly after she turned ten. Her powers manifested early, and they were fairly difficult to hide. By that time, I was a young woman attempting to pursue a career in law enforcement. She came to me anyway, terrified, and so I did my best to shield her from our parents and any others who might have trouble accepting her gift. Her powers were too strong, however, and I was ultimately unable to hide her telepathic skills from our mother and father. They didn't say anything to her specifically, but they started treating her differently, even feared her. They thought she couldn't tell the difference, but she read minds, and she knew what they thought of her.

"I did my best to give her someone who was willing to accept her, who didn't care how different she was, but it was never enough. Eventually, after a particularly catastrophic display of telekinetic power, she chose to run away. I invested all my energy into finding her, which inevitably led me to Ronin and MATAHA. In exchange for their help in finding my sister, I signed on to the program, and almost twelve months later she was located. Unfortunately, that discovery took place after the disaster at Cuba, and Stryker had already found her by then. Found her, and dealt with her. Or so we thought..."

She trailed off, leaving a void of silence Erik felt the need to fill.

"She's alive," he pointed out bluntly. "You still have a chance of getting her back."

"Do I?" Natalie's words were layered with bitterness. "After what Stryker has most likely done to her?" She shook her head, letting the unspoken words in both their minds fill in the blanks. Erik was surprised to find himself feeling emphatic towards the human woman, his own experience in losing his family still a fresh memory, despite the years that had passed since it occurred. His own parents had never turned on him for what he was, and he could not imagine a mother and father who cared so little for their child they would. "In all honesty," the auburn haired woman continued darkly, "she would be better off dead."

The weight of truth in those words was stifling. Erik flexed absently against the bonds holding him in place, knowing that anything he might have said would be nothing but empty words. In the end, he was not required to say anything at all, because Natalie shook herself out of her own dark thoughts without prompting.

"What's done is done," she announced calmly, sliding the picture back into the inner pocket of her jacket as she shrugged, the gesture not quite pulling off the resigned calm she was trying to convey. There was grief in her eyes, still burning freshly, and right alongside that was a hatred for Stryker as strong as any Erik had borne for Shaw. "I'm just trying to make sure it doesn't happen again. Ronin and I are tasked with the responsibility of bringing Stryker down, and I mean to see to it we accomplish that mission."

"Just the two of you?" Erik asked, surprised.

"MATAHA is not a large agency," Natalie told him. "It's actually a subsidiary of a much larger bureau. Its members are assigned missions and work in partnerships to accomplish them, rarely in a larger group. We have a strike force if we need it, but we try not to for fear of drawing attention to ourselves. For the moment we still have authorization to do what we're doing, but if someone starts poking into what we do the plug could be pulled in less than a day. We keep a low profile, and so we survive."

"But you have helpers," Erik pointed out. "The Sentinels? The Mavericks?"

"Support networks we ourselves create to aid us in achieving our goal," Natalie confirmed with a nod. "Agent Black..." There was a decided firmness in the way she refused to use James' first name. Erik knew enough about distancing oneself to recognize it when he saw it. "Agent Black was a mole working in the CIA for us. He was assigned the post at Stryker's facility in the hopes he would gather enough information to prove Stryker is guilty of wrongdoing. He pulled out early to help you people, and anything he may have had is gone for good now. Wilson made sure of that. Stryker has already moved his operation to a new base, with better security and staff already handpicked. There's no way we can get another man inside it without raising suspicions."

"So what happens now?" Erik asked, already with an inkling in mind.

"Now we start all over again," Natalie replied simply. "We do it right this time."

"And that's what you need me for?" he hazarded a guess, earning himself a slow smile from the woman seated across from him.

"Exactly," she said smoothly. "You and the Institution are going to help us bring Stryker down. _That_ is what the Agency is asking of you, Mr. Lensherr, in exchange for us letting you go free."

"I can live with that."

"I thought you might." Her smile turned smug as she rose and stepped across the room to the door, opening it and speaking quietly with whomever was standing guard outside. A few moments later she returned to the table, setting a sharpened pocketknife down beside the file. "Cut yourself loose," she ordered, not so much as batting an eye at the way he instantly called the metal object to his hands. "We need to make a house call."

"Where?" Slicing easily through the plastic ties, he guided the knife back to its place on the table, rubbing his wrists absently to encourage the return of circulation.

"The Sanctum," Natalie replied, ignoring the sharp look he threw her way. "I believe that is what you call your safe haven?"

"It is," he nodded minutely. "Why do we need to go there?"

"Miss Xavier seemed to believe the location was not as secure as you had previously assumed." Erik remembered, then, his and Raven's sprouting concerns for how much of their safety Orez had compromised. "I am assuming you have some sort of a plan for solving that particular issue?"

"I do," he confirmed with a slight nod, snagging the keys she tossed at him out of the air without twitching a muscle.

"Good," she answered simply. "You're driving."

**1st Class**

"I want to know where my brother is."

Raven was trying to convince herself she wasn't scared.

It was, she realized with some degree of frustration, a battle she was _not_ winning.

Following their impromptu rescue from Las Vegas, she had_ apparently_ fallen asleep at some point during their flight to safety. Whether or not that had been due to her own exhaustion was a dubious proposition, but she wasn't going to go there without being certain asking questions wouldn't induce another bout of 'sleep'. Regardless of the cause, she had awoken in a brightly lit room with a large window overlooking what seemed to be the edge of a forest. That window had been slightly ajar, allowing for the sounds of nature to penetrate the otherwise silent room, and going some way towards abating the sterile smell that could still be detected beneath the scent of pine needles and wood. She had been alone upon awakening, but someone had obviously been watching and waiting for her to wake up, because no sooner had she swung her legs over the side of the bed than the door slid open, and the same man who had rescued her and Erik from the alleyway outside the surgery kindly informed her she had been transported to a secure location.

It was at that point alarm bells had started going off in her head.

"You're brother is perfectly fine." Apparently oblivious to her mounting panic, Ronin answered her question with calm affability. "Unfortunately, your somewhat hurried escape aggravated his wounds. Len had to redo the stitches, but he doesn't expect that to impact too greatly on his recovery. Both your brother and Ms. McTaggert are downstairs, recovering."

It could all be a lie, of course, and her brother and Moira might be somewhere entirely different, but Raven allowed herself to feel a modicum of relief anyway. This man _had_ saved her life, after all, he deserved the benefit of a little doubt before she started accusing him of abduction. On the other hand, there was someone he _hadn't_ mentioned, and she wasn't going to accept that lying down.

"Where's Erik?"

"With Natalie." His reply came immediately, accompanied by a friendly smile, but the fact his answer was not an answer at all did not go unnoticed.

"And where's Natalie?" Her question was pointed, leaving no doubt as to the fact she expected an answer.

"By now?" Ronin quirked an eyebrow slightly. "Probably on her way to Westchester."

"They're going back to the mansion?" Raven frowned in confusion. "What for?"

"Not the mansion," Ronin shook his head. "The Sanctum. You, uh, probably don't remember this, but you were kind enough to let us know your comrades were most likely not as safe as they thought we were. He and Natalie are going to make sure Stryker doesn't go after your friends in their safe haven next."

"Fine," she huffed a sigh, wondering what other secrets she had blurted out whilst she was less than fully aware. It sounded plausible, entirely plausible, but Raven still had her doubts. Doubts she knew better than to air when she was alone, without back-up, and with no idea where she actually was. If there was anything these past six months had taught her it was that you couldn't trust anybody, no matter how likely it seemed that they were on your side. Of course, the fact that Ronin had apparently sedated her wasn't terribly helpful in encouraging her put her faith in him either. "What about Hank? Natalie said he..."

"Was taken." His answer was blunt and flat. "Stryker couldn't get the prize he wanted, so he went for the next best thing. The destruction of the surgery was controlled, intended to trap rather than to kill. It's the only reason any of us are still alive right now. Sontag's abilities can be deadly if they are unleashed without restraint."

"That _wasn't_ deadly?" Raven found herself gaping. Ronin apparently took pity on her, for he offered an elaboration she didn't want as soon as she had heard it.

"She leveled a whole city block on her first mission for Stryker," he said quietly. "We were lucky she was under orders not to do the same thing in Vegas."

"What will happen to Hank now?" She hadn't gone with Erik and the others when they went to see Stryker's facility, but she had seen the teleporter. The 'ghost' who had tried to warn them of what was coming at the beginning of this disaster, and exactly how much his actions had cost him. The thought of Hank in the hands of such monsters was enough to make her blood run cold.

"Stryker has shut down the Canadian facility," Ronin said by way of an answer. "Natalie and I were too late to catch him before he shipped all the mutants out of there. He'll have moved them all to a new location by now, and that's most likely where he'll take your friend."

"We have to get him back," Raven stated, worry overriding common sense.

"We will," he assured her, with a sense of confidence she could not quite bring herself to feel. "We'll get them all back, Miss Xavier, that's a promise."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N. I'm really, _really_ sorry about how terribly, unforgivably late this update is. Real life has been madness lately, with job interviews and driving lessons and an impending new license test, not to mention I wasn't quite as over that rotten bug as I thought I was. On top of all that I really need to learn how _not_ to get involved in a new fandom when I haven't finished with the old one. Even so, there really is no excuse for how late this is. **

**On another note, we are only a few chapters away from finished. For real, this time. I don't expect the chapter count to exceed thirty, and in all likelihood it will be less.**

**Also, I apologize to anyone who reviewed and didn't get a response. I try, but lately the free time I have to reply to reviews is just as scarce as that I have for writing. **

**Please R & R. I could really use the inspiration right now. :-)**

**P.S For those of you who are interested I'm working on a list of the OC 'borrowed characters' with a little bit of backstory for each. You can find it on my homepage, (http : / / amillionmilesofroad . Webs . com) under Fanfiction, Peace Was Never an Option, Character Guide. It's a work in progress, and mostly just there because I like to have a backstory for all my characters, but feel free to check it out.**

**Quote: ** "Acceptance of what has happened is the first step to overcoming the consequences of any misfortune."-William James

**/Chapter 26\**

**-Survival-**

"Once upon a time in a land that was otherwise nothing but sweetness and light, there lived an old sourpuss named Len..."

"What's a sourpuss?"

Strangely enough, it was Charles' hearing, rather than his telepathy, that first reintroduced him to the state of consciousness. The latter sense followed swiftly enough, slowly drawing him into a room that seemed oddly crowded. Expanding his sixth sense slowly and cautiously with the tentativeness of a newly healed muscle, he did not bother to open his eyes for the time being, content with the insight his psionic abilities gave him, and not yet fully free of the trance he had purposefully placed himself in.

"It means grouch, sweetie," the storyteller chirruped cheerfully. "Now, as I was saying, the grouch named Len lived in the land of sweetness and light, in a palace surrounded by floral gardens and sparkling lakes."

"With a waterfall?" his audience inquired. Young, bright, and enraptured.

"If you like," the speaker agreed congenially. "Anyway, this palace was considered the most beautiful, sweet, and light of all palaces in the land of sweetness and light, but nobody dared to tread there, for fear the terrible grouch would gobble them whole. Nobody, that is, save for a daring, beautiful princess named Emily."

"Me?" The young girl in question gave a squeal of delight, though another member of the audience, standing disconcertingly close to Charles' head, groaned loudly.

"Good lord," he complained gruffly, with an overshadowing mantle of warmth. "Are you even _qualified_ to tell fairy tales?"

"Don't be such a sourpuss, Len," the object of his annoyance teased. "Besides, Em likes it. Right?" Whatever response he received must have been in the affirmative, for he continued with scarcely a pause. "Now, brave and beautiful though Princess Emily was, even she couldn't find a way through the impenetrable walls of bright, white stone that surrounded Len's castle. There were no gates. No windows. No ladders. The ivy, when tested, would not hold her weight, and her winged horse could not get past the invisible shield that covered the approach from the sky. After several days of trying, Emily sat down and said to herself, 'I must find the Disappearing Man, for only he can get past these walls'. But to find the Disappearing Man, who was a close friend, Emily needed help. So she went to her uncle, King Nicholas, and begged that he accompany her on her dangerous mission."

"Leave me out of this, Ronin," 'Nicholas' objected immediately, startling Charles, because he hadn't even sensed the man's presence until he spoke. And _still_ did not now.

"No can do, Nick," Ronin replied with a grin Charles did not need to see to know was present. "I'm running out of characters here."

"What happened next?" Emily demanded impatiently, tiring of the adults' arguments.

"Next? Well, of course Nicholas could not refuse his favorite niece's plea, so together they mounted their winged horses and flew to the deep, dark cavern where the Disappearing Man lived. Now, Nicholas was scared of the dark, and didn't dare venture into the cavern, but brave Princess Emily marched straight in. 'Disappearing Man,' shouted she. 'I need your help'. There was a soft 'pop', and there Disappearing Man was, ready to help. Brave Princess Emily explained to him her troubles, and he immediately agreed to help her. Lifting her in his arms he disappeared once more, and when they reappeared Emily was overjoyed to see they were inside the walls of the grouch's palace."

"What was inside?" his enthralled listener asked eagerly, earning a warm chuckle from Ronin.

"The beautiful gardens and sparkling lakes, of course. And, let us not forget the dreaded 'grouch', who came racing from within the palace, only for Emily to realize he was, in truth, a teddy bear!" Ignoring the sounds of indignation that statement invoked, he continued unconcerned, "It turned out poor teddy was not really as grouchy as people believed, but had in fact forgotten where the secret gate in his walls was, and thus was unable to leave his beautiful palace or to invite others inside. With Emily's help he was finally able to rediscover the lost doorway, and the palace was opened for everyone to enjoy once more."

"You are utterly ridiculous," Len stated blandly.

"Maybe." There was a shuffle of movement as Ronin rose, shifting Emily from his knee onto her feet. "But at least I'm not a sourpuss. You hungry, kiddo? Good. Off to the kitchens with you!"

Herding the giggling child out of the room, Ronin waited only until the door had closed behind her before speaking. "The answer is still no, Nick."

"You can't be serious!" The one person in the room Charles could not sense protested vehemently. "They're my friends, Ronin. My _partner_. You can't expect me to wait here while..."

"I can, do, and _will_," Ronin cut off his argument before it could go any further,. "Stryker's forces are still in Vegas. It's not safe for you to go back there right now, partner or no. So far as Stryker is concerned right now, you're just a wayward police detective who sympathizes with mutants. The moment he realizes otherwise, you're going to be right up there on the top priority list."

"I'd be careful," Nick muttered, more sullenly than argumentatively now.

"It wouldn't make a difference. Creed would still hunt you down. Look, just give it a few days for the heat to cool off, and then you can go back. I'll take you myself, for that matter."

Nick's response was muttered too low for Charles to hear, and without being able to use telepathy he couldn't glean it mentally either. Whatever he said, it was followed by the door closing with a good deal more force than was strictly necessary, and a sigh from Ronin.

"That," he announced flatly, "could have gone better."

"A lot of things could have gone better," Len remarked grimly. "As it is we're one man down and one man out. Nat's gone on a little road-trip with a bloody mutant _assassin, _there's a CIA agent that doesn't exist currently sharing a room with a girl who turns _blue_ when she's unconscious, and you're making up frankly _alarming_ fairy tales to tell Emily."

"And that's _new_?" Ronin retorted amusedly, before adopting a more serious tone and mindset. "Look, Leonard, we'll get this straightened out. You just need to be patient and..."

"Straightened _out_?" The response was both incredulous and angry. "James is _dead_, Ronin. How the hell do you think you're going to fix that?"

Ronin's tone frosted slightly. "He knew what he was getting into."

"Did _he_? Did _any_ of us, really? You told us this would be _over_ by now! That Stryker wouldn't get this far! Well he _did,_ and good people have died because of it. Why don't you just _shoot_ the bastard already and have done with it?"

"That wouldn't work and you know it," Ronin refuted calmly. "They'd blame the mutants, and Stryker would become a martyr. We need to _prove_ he's the bad guy before we can get anywhere."

"So you keep on saying," the other man snorted in derision. "I've yet to see any actual progress on that count."

"You will," Ronin answered sincerely. "Just...be patient."

His only answer was a noncommittal grunt, and, seemingly satisfied with that, or perhaps knowing he would not get more, Ronin departed from the room. Almost as soon as he was gone Len shifted slightly, his tone less irate, but still mildly annoyed as he said.

"You done eavesdropping?"

Honestly surprised to have been caught out, Charles sucked in a sharp breath, only realizing what a bad idea that was after a sharp knife of pain tore its way across his chest. The air caught in his throat momentarily as his whole body seized in a concerted effort to avoid this new affliction. It was several moments before he could convince his lungs to start functioning again, gasping in shallow breaths that seemed to aggravate his injuries less. Only once his heart rate had settled somewhat did he open his eyes, meeting the blurry face of his sole companion.

"How'd y'know?" It didn't come out sounding nearly as intelligible as he had hoped, but Len did not appear to have any trouble interpreting it.

"I'm a doctor," he stated tersely. "You think I can't tell when a patient is feigning sleep? Besides," he waved a hand in the direction of the oddly silent monitors sitting at Charles' left hand, "these kind of give the game away, if you know where to look. In any case, I wouldn't recommend pulling a stunt like you just did again. Given the amount of damage you managed to do to yourself both before and after surgery, you're lucky to still be breathing at all. Maybe next time you'll remember to _not_ stand in front of a bullet."

Charles drew in a breath to formulate his response, more cautiously this time, but still flinched at the sensation. Breathing was _definitely_ not supposed to be that _painful_. His whole chest was burning, and what should have been a smooth breath turned into a sharp, choked wheeze.

"Relax," Len advised in a tone that was far gentler than any of his prior utterances. "It'll help."

He tried to comply, his next intake of air carefully measured, and was relieved to find the pain was less on the second attempt. Waiting until he had established a rhythm that did not result in immediate agony he reopened eyes he had squeezed shut, blinking a moment, before formulating a more successful attempt at conversation.

"Raven?" He was sure he had sensed his sister at some point following their escape from the mansion, so he was not surprised by the fact Len appeared to recognize the name.

"She's around somewhere," the doctor shrugged. "With Miss McTaggert, most likely." Which meant most of his friends were accounted for, despite the somewhat catastrophic events he appeared to have missed. Events that had been enough to rob James of his life. Anticipating what his next question would be, Len continued, "As for the other one, I don't know. He's gone off somewhere with Nat. You'll have to ask Ronin if you want to know where."

Charles nodded, cautiously shifting himself higher up the stack of pillows he was already leaning against. The doctor made no comment on either his movement or the facial contortions Charles was sure it caused, busying himself with the medical equipment. The telepath had just enough time to get his labored breathing back under control before the door flew open and Raven literally flew across the room, wrapping him in crushing hug that would have been painful even _without_ his current injuries. She let go almost immediately afterwards, apparently recalling that embracing him might not have been the best idea, but kept her hands resting on his shoulders, looking him up and down searchingly. Charles, currently incapable of dreaming up something more eloquent, answered her unspoken question with a single word.

"Ow."

Raven snorted, though it sounded half like a sob, slapping him lightly on the arm. "Is _that_ all you have to say for yourself?" she demanded sharply. "You jumped in front of a _bullet_, you _idiot_! It's a miracle you're even still alive!"

Uncertain of whether or not she was simply exaggerating, Charles rolled his head to the side to questioningly meet the doctor's gaze.

"She's not lying," Len shrugged simply. "An inch to the right, and you'd be dead. As it is you're going to find breathing a little painful for some time, until your broken rib heals at least. And that's only if you don't go breaking your stitches again."

"Again?" he murmured faintly, understanding better now the mingled anger and concern his sister was directing at him. _Deliberately _projecting at him, in fact.

"Your friends got a little overenthusiastic in their daring rescue," the doctor replied dryly, casting Raven a disapproving glance. "Extenuating circumstances aside, that wasn't the best choice of carrying positions."

"I'll be sure to tell Erik that the next time we're _running for our lives_," Raven responded pointedly, and Charles smothered the undignified urge to snort, mostly due to the knowledge it would probably _hurt_.

"Where _is_ Erik?" he asked instead, hoping one of them would know what the doctor had not.

"He went back to the Sanctum," Moira offered, making herself visible at the foot of the bed. Her arm had been put into a cast now, rather than the splints that had formerly adorned it, and there were new bruises and scrapes visible on her face and arms. "To make sure the students were safe."

"Right." It made sense. After everything that had happened recently, they couldn't rely on anything to be as secure as they had once thought it was. "Good. Thats good...where are _we_?"

"I don't know," Raven's response was clipped, even accusing, though Charles was of the distinct impression the latter intonation was not directed at him."Safe, for the moment, at least."

Willing to trust Raven's judgement on that count for the time being, Charles shifted his focus from their location to the two unknowns standing just inside the entrance to the room. They were, unless he was greatly mistaken, the same two who had departed some few minutes ago. They were also strangers, undefined variables in a scenario that had gotten decidedly twisted, and had not waited for his participation before warping even further. Nevertheless, he could still make his own conclusions as to whether or not they were a threat.

He didn't get a sense of hostility from the younger of the pair; The dark haired man positioned alongside the door whom he couldn't sense at all, looking almost as beaten and battered as Moira did. Whilst the fact he seemed impervious to telepathic intrusion might have been worrying under any other circumstances, his appearances failed to set off any alarm bells, and Charles tentatively concluded that he was not likely to cause harm. It was more the man standing, or rather, _slouching_ beside him that was the issue. The way his blue eyes flittered often about the room was far from casual, and he was making no effort to hide the weapon holstered at his side. That one gave off a persistent aura of 'danger', and Charles wished dearly that he did not seem to share the same imperviousness as his companion, albeit a less foolproof wall.

He could still sense the blond man, he simply couldn't penetrate.

Having finished his casual assessment of both the room and the individuals in it, he shifted his focus onto Moira, keeping his tone neutral as he pressed for details. "Do I _want_ to know?"

The former CIA agent made a choked noise that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh, moving to the bedside table to fill a glass of water and press it into Charles' hand, before taking a seat on the mattress opposite Raven. Relieved his limbs were steady enough to the hold the cup without shaking, Charles took it gratefully, but did not accept it for the distraction it was.

"Is someone going to explain what happened here, or do I need to guess?"

Moira shifted slightly, directing her attention towards the pair standing guard at the door. The blond man stepped forward as if on cue, but made sure to turn to the doctor first.

"Are we good, Doc?"

"No," Len grumbled in response. "We are _not_ good on a number of levels. But if this _imbecile_," he waved a hand in Charles direction, and the telepath endeavored not to feel insulted, "insists on putting his body under undue strain when he should be resting that's none of my concern. I'm going to take Emily outside for some fresh air. Call me if it looks like he's going to die again."

Swinging on his heel he gathered the little girl, who had escaped Charles' line of sight by sitting on the floor, up in his arms, departing without another word. It was with an amused smile that the blond man turned back to Charles.

"Don't mind Len," he said simply. "He's got a lot on his mind, and even when he doesn't he's never the most pleasant person to be around. As it is, I think he can be forgiven. You guys really have been leaving a trail of disaster in your wake lately."

"That's not _our_ fault," Raven began defensively, earning herself an immediately pacifying gesture.

"No, no, of course not." The stranger shook his head. "But you can't deny that things have gotten messy lately, and that you all seem to be in the middle of it."

"Messy how?" Charles interjected, feeling more than a little lost. "What _happened_? And who are you?"

"That's a long story." He took a breath. "So we might as well start at the beginning. My name is Ronin Clinton. I belong to a covert agency known as MATAHA..."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: So, it is currently 2.30am-waaaaayyy past my bedtime-and yet I have somehow managed to type out a seven page chapter...go figure. (And beware of typos. I checked, but it _is _2.30am.) Anyway, I'm not too sure about this one. Something about writing side-characters always unnerves me, because their voices are so much hard to pin down than the lead roles. I hope I haven't done anything too OOC, but feel free to let me know what you think.**

**_Jessica_: I'm going to say the same to you that I did to my singed reviewer, and that's a sincere thankyou for sticking around despite my unannounced hiatus. I really do apologize for leaving you guys hanging for so long, and I'm hoping it won't happen again until this story reaches its conclusions.**

**And, yes, we all know Charles is the cutest imbecile out there. :D Sorry he doesn't make an appearance this chapter, but I'm saving the really good stuff for the next one. :-)**

"Chords that were broken will vibrate once more."**-Fanny Crosby**

**/Chapter 27\**

**-Scattered Pieces-**

There was something decidedly surreal about walking side by side with a woman who had openly proclaimed she would happily have ended his life had circumstances been anything but what they were. Erik figured it probably had something to do with the fact he had done the same thing many times before, the only difference being the woman at his side had formerly been an icy blonde, as opposed to the fiery red head now marching quick time to keep up with his longer strides.

Natalie hadn't said much on the drive to the Sanctum, except to protest when Erik insisted she leave her gun in the glovebox. Erik had won that argument when he pointed out the adult occupants of the Sanctum consisted of a teleporter, a sonic powerhouse, a living twister, and a young man who wielded sheer energy. Conceding it would be better _not_ to startle aforementioned individuals, Natalie had left the weapon behind, though Erik had the nagging suspicion that the long hairpins holding her bun in place were decidedly more lethal than they appeared at first glance. The fact he could _sense_ the metal hiding beneath their plastic coating only reaffirming that suspicion.

Which meant he was leading an _armed_ and potentially dangerous woman towards their sanctuary, and the only thought that saw fit to cross his mind in justification was that he had done this before. But Emma was a mutant. She had had Charles to vouch for her. Natalie Erik had to judge for himself, and, in the aftermath of all that had occurred, the metal bender wasn't putting all that much stock in his own judgement.

Cuba he could live with. Despite what Charles might wish to the contrary, there was still that part of him, that deeply buried, dark part, that did not at all regret what had passed on the beach that day. He had done what was necessary to protect those around him, and the motivation, at least, was not something he would ever lose sleep over. Cuba he could live with, but being the cause, no matter how indirectly, of six months of hard work falling into ruins around them was not so easily reconciled. They had lost the Estate. They had lost Emma. They had lost Hank. And they had come perilously close to losing Charles. It was the abrupt ending to their newfound relative happiness he had been so terrified would inevitably come, but, now that is was finally here, he was not ready to concede defeat. He was not going to walk away this time, consequences be damned.

He _had_ considered it briefly, sitting in that small surgery room and watching his friend struggle for every breath. Charles had taken a _bullet_ for him. Had, for some, inconceivable, unimaginable reason _deliberately_ placed himself before the enemy's weapon. He had been on the verge of convincing himself that leaving would be for the best. That to do so was the only way to truly protect those he cared for. Until he realized, with a cold sort of dread, that _he_ had never been Stryker's goal. He _could_ walk away. Vanish. He was good at vanishing. But, just this once, doing so would not solve the problem, because _he_ was not the hand of destruction this time. Much though he hated to admit it, he had been the tool, and if he removed himself from the equation Stryker would simply find another way to achieve his goal. He would pray on Charles' trusting nature, just as he had using Orez, and Erik wouldn't be there to stop him.

Walking away had always been an option. In many ways it would have been easier than trying to fumble his way around the compromise he and the telepath had reached after Cuba. Erik had been on his own for so long that he wasn't used to catering to the needs of others, and it certainly hadn't been easy to set aside his natural instinct to strike first, before the enemy _could_. There had been several occasions immediately after the incident on the beach that he thought about packing his suitcase and leaving in the night when the rest of the Estate's occupants were asleep. There had always been something to stop him, however. The excuse that Charles was a telepath, and that he would sense Erik's departure as easily as he had the first time. But it _was_ just an excuse, and,, if whatever he had found here had been strong enough to _keep_ him here this long, then he wasn't going to turn his back on it, on _them_, now. Not when they needed him the most.

For once in his life he was going to stick around long enough to _fix_ his mistakes.

The damage wasn't irreparable.

Not yet.

"Magneto?" The quiet hail drew his attention from his inner musings and away to his left, where he could just make out Sean's outline beneath the shadow of the trees. He had to give the sonic mutant credit for not using his given name, even if it was a pointless deception at this point, given that Natalie most likely knew who they _all_ were. Nevertheless, the younger mutants had learned their lessons well, and there was quick spark of something like pride in the back of his mind before he shoved it back down into the hidden recess from which it had sprung.

"You can call off the others, Banshee." He had no doubt they were nearby, even if he couldn't see them. Or sense them, for that matter. He would have to commend them later on their success in finding metalless clothes. It was always wise to have a defense against your own assets, no matter how unlikely it might seem that they would be turned against you. "We're not here to do damage."

He included himself in that last statement, because there was no way Hank had not recounted _exactly_ what he had seen happen. Raven had known about his 'capture' as well, and the younger mutants were too much of a team not to have shared their knowledge of the events within the Estate. To his mingled relief and alarm, Sean appeared to accept his reassurances, letting out a whistle that was much lower than his usual signals, before stepping out into the open.

"Who's your friend?" he probed curiously, eyes darting between Erik and Natalie.

"Miss Grey," he supplied simply, noting out of the corner of his eye Azazel's sudden appearance. The teleporter the others had retrieved from Stryker's facility was lingering on the opposite flank, and Alex was being unusually silent behind them. He couldn't see Riptide anywhere, which doubtlessly meant they hadn't left the children undefended. "The others are inside?"

"Yeah," Sean answered with a strange half nod. "We've been keeping them in the mirror room just in case. Which," he pulled a face, "isn't exactly ideal. There's not a lot of room in that place."

"I might be able to do something about that," Erik offered neutrally. He wasn't about to press any of them into taking him inside. Without either Emma or Charles here to verify his mental state, he had to _prove_ that he was no longer being manipulated. Though, Azazel at least should know that, as well as Stryker's teleporter. They had both borne witness to the fact that he was, if not entirely level, at least himself.

"We were hoping you might," Sean stated with a shrug. "You didn't exactly leave us with written instructions."

"We were also hoping you'd be able to tell us how the Professor is doing," Alex added, having drawn level with them now. "Frost said he'd been shot."

"He's alive and breathing on his own, that's all I can tell you right now." Which wasn't at all comforting, Erik knew. "He wasn't conscious when I left."

"So Mystique and Beast are keeping an eye on him, yes?" That was Sean again, and Erik felt his heart sink as he realized he wasn't going to have the opportunity to delay this. He had hoped he would be able to put off confessing what had happened indefinitely, or at least until he had some sort of back up that was more sensitive to this type of thing than himself. Someone who wouldn't think haring off after Stryker-_both_ of them-with every intentions of killing him in the slowest, most painful manner available was a good idea.

"Mystique and Moira are with him," he said aloud, bracing himself for what was to come next. "Stryker has Beast."

"_What_?" The explosion came from Alex, whose face had morphed from wary curiosity to full blown fury. "How the _hell_ did that happen?" His gaze turned on Natalie, eyes narrowing accusingly. "What did you _do_?"

"Me?" the redheaded woman responded menacingly. "I saved Agent McTaggert from certain death. I covered your friends escape long enough that only _one_ of them was captured when Stryker _stormed_ the medical facility where they were being treated for their wounds. I helped get them to safety when otherwise running would have served no purpose. Take your accusations elsewhere, Mr. Summers. You cannot blame me for _this_."

Alex fairly bristled, and Erik stepped in before the situation could get any more volatile.

"_No one_ is to blame for this," he interjected firmly. "Stryker took advantage of us whilst we were down, and that's all there is to it. Right now arguing isn't going to help anyone, least of all Beast. We need to set priorities, and priority number one is getting the children to safety so that when Charles _does_ wake up he doesn't have to worry about Stryker getting his hands on a score or so of mutant children as _well_ as our resident genius."

For a moment he thought either Alex or Sean were going to argue. Both looked set to, their concern over the welfare of the third member of their trio sending already frayed nerves to their breaking point. Fortunately for them all, Azazel chose this moment to step into the fray.

"I can hasten that goal, comrade," he offered a clawed hand.

Erik didn't hesitate before taking it, vaguely aware of Natalie hastily slipping a hand into the crook of his elbow before their green surroundings flashed out of sight to be replaced by cold metal walls. Riptide, who had been leaning against the door to the mirror room in a pose that was disturbingly reminiscent of a jailor, straightened at their approach, casting Azazel a questioning glance. Whatever silent communication passed between the two must have satisfied him, for he stepped aside almost immediately, allowing Erik to proceed into the somewhat crowded room beyond.

"Mr. Erik!"

It was Ororo, of course, who rushed forward to greet him, hesitating a mere foot away when her eyes fell upon the strange woman flanking him. Erik didn't bother explaining Natalie's presence, already focussed on uncovering the stairwell leading to the lower levels. So far as he was aware, Stryker's telepath had not gleaned the knowledge of this place from his mind, and Orez had never laid eyes upon it. Even so, the longer the children stayed above ground the greater the risk became, and there would be no time for either explanations or idle reunions until this was done. He ignored the startled yelps of surprise that sounded from within the group when the ground beneath them shifted, and the resulting swell of children that gathered around him to avoid tumbling down the steps, completing the task without a single uttered word. That done, he turned to the others Stryker's teleporter had brought down, tilting his head towards the way down.

"You can take it from here."

Clapping his hands, Alex drew the attention of the small crowd gathered in the far too small room. "All right, guys, time to go exploring."

With a proficiency that had been born of practice, Alex and Sean began herding the students down into the lower levels, Riptide having already closed the door to the upper floors to ensure there were no cracks in their defense. Moving to the side, Erik watched the proceedings in silence, Natalie just as quiet at his side, until the students had all descended and Alex came to stand beside him.

"There are other ways out from down there, right?" he asked uneasily.

"A few," Erik informed him. "They open manually. This exit probably does too. Frost just never bothered to show me how."

"Where _is_ Emma, by the way?" The look he threw Erik was one of curiosity. "I was of the impression she was with you."

"She was." This was something else he hadn't really wanted to explain, but there was no one else to do so right now, and he could hardly ignore the question. "From what I understand, she's had enough of playing nice."

"She left?" He frowned in consternation. "Just like that?"

"She was never really _with_ us to begin with," Erik recalled simply, folding his arms across his chest as he leant back against the mirrors behind him. "I'm not sure she would have stayed for much longer even had this not happened."

"Yeah..." The energy infused mutant fidgeted for a moment, before deciding blunt was the best approach and forging onwards, "So what now? We're kinda screwed, aren't we?"

"Not quite. We have a defensible position now. Somewhere where Stryker can't find us no matter how hard his telepath looks. Even if he knows about the top levels and manages to find the Sanctum itself, which is not a surety, he won't know about the lower."

"I suppose that's all to the good," Alex conceded. "But what help is it, really? Stryker's already proven he can beat us in a fair fight, simply by _not_ playing fair."

"Nobody said you had to play fair either," Natalie remarked blandly.

Alex looked her up and down a moment, before grinning. "You look like you might know quite a bit on that subject, Miss Grey."

"I know enough," the red head shrugged. "Mr. Lensherr here has already accepted my offer for aid, but I'm fairly sure that agreement hinges on your own approval. "

"Does your help mean we get Hank back?" Typically direct. Alex had never been one to dodge about a goal when he could go straight for it. "With a side-dish of revenge?"

"If I have my way, revenge will be the main course," Natalie answered him with complete sincerity.

"I _like_ this girl." Alex turned to Erik. "Where did you find her again?"

"She can tell you herself." If Natalie wanted to win the approval of the younger mutants, she was going to have to do it on her own. Erik wasn't going to give her any advantages. If a recommendation from him at this point could be _considered _an advantage, that is. "Do we have a map in here?"

"Probably down with the supplies Azazel and Johnny have been transporting down." Erik hadn't even noticed the teleporters' absence. "Why?" Alex was eyeing him speculatively now.

"I'm going back," Erik announced without preamble. "When you have the kids settled, and have finished fighting over who is going to stay behind, I'd like you to follow. Natalie can show Azazel the location on the map."

"Yeah, sure, but _why_?" the other mutant pressed. "I mean, is it really a good idea for all of us to be going to whatever top secret base thingy these guys obviously have. No offense, Miss Super Secret Agent."

"It's a cabin on the edge of the woods with a single underground level we use for interrogating suspects," Natalie told him flatly. "If you wanted out, Mister Energy Rays, I severely doubt we'd be able to stop you."

"The Super Secret Agent makes a valid point," Sean droned as he reemerged from the lower levels. "Azazel and John are done transporting the bags, Havoc. You going to help unpack?"

"Sure," Alex answered immediately, despite being locked in a staring match with Natalie. "Miss Grey can help us, and explain exactly what the hell is going on while we're doing it."

"And if we think she's lying, we can have the kids torture the truth out of her," the sonic mutant nodded his agreement. "Miss Grey?"

Natalie, to her credit, did not baulk at the odd dynamics between the pair, following Sean with only a single backwards glance towards Erik, which conveyed quite clearly her displeasure at being left to the mercy of the two young men. Alex, following in their footsteps, hovered a moment at the top of the stairs.

"Do you think we have a chance of getting him back?" he asked quietly, but insistently. "_Really_?"

"It doesn't matter either way, Alex," he exhaled slowly. "Because we owe it to Hank to try."

Alex bobbed his head in acknowledgement, turning to leave, before hesitating a second time. "You scared the crap out of all of us, you know."

"I didn't exactly plan to," he said succinctly, hoping to ward of any further probes in that direction.

"Maybe not," Alex shrugged. "But you still did." He paused thoughtfully, then added, "You're not going to vanish on us, are you?"

That one caused Erik to frown, and he did not bother to hide the thoughts he was certain were showing on his face. "I wasn't aware you were that fond of my company."

"I'm not, trust me," Alex snorted. "You're a scary bastard at the best of times, and that's putting it mildly. But what you did in Cuba, terrible and all as it was...Well, let's just say I wouldn't mind seeing it again. Just the once."

"You want me around to take care of Stryker," Erik concluded, not quite sure how to feel about that particular little revelation. "You're own, personal living weapon."

"Well, let's face it, Erik." Shrugging, Alex flashed him a smile. "Nobody does revenge and retribution quite like you do."

"I'm not so sure," Erik said quietly, his mind flashing back to the look of pure venom he had seen on Emma's face the last time he spoke to the blond telepath. If she was true to her word, and he had no doubt she would be, then they wouldn't be the only ones after Stryker's blood. "But you needn't worry. I won't be going anywhere until both Strykers have been taught a painful lesson."

"And there's the scary part," Alex remarked, gesturing at Erik's expression. "Don't come near the kids with that look, will you? Oh, and speaking of kids, what, exactly, is the deal with our resident sleeping beauty?"

"You mean Orez?" There should have been a wave of anger accompanying the utterance of that name, but there wasn't. Instead there was a simply an empty void in its place, a complete indifference to the boy's fate. "Leave him as he is. He's Charles' to deal with."

Alex accepted that explanation with a simple nod, not bothering to formulate a verbal response as he followed in Sean's footsteps, leaving Erik alone in the mirror room to stare at his own reflection. There was no Shaw hovering over his shoulder this time, but what he saw in his own face was hardly less disturbing. He hadn't slept properly for at least three days, his few hours of slumber on the uncomfortable surgeon's couch notwithstanding, and his nights before that had hardly been restful. That lack of rest showed. It had been a long time since he had looked so haggard.

In truth he felt just as exhausted as he appeared, too utterly and completely enervated to even think straight, if at all. Perhaps it was the mental kickback. Could he blame temporary mental incompetency on having his mind turned into a battleground by two of the strongest telepaths in the world? It seemed plausible enough, and no doubt such an excuse would be easily believed. By everyone but himself. He had let himself slip. He had stopped thinking when he _knew _they were not yet out of the danger zone. Had he been using his head properly he would have known the surgery was not secure enough to keep them safe. That as soon as Charles was able to be moved they should have left.

Ideally, that would have happened _before_ Stryker came beating down their door, killing someone who, by all accounts, was a good man, and ruthlessly kidnapping one of their own. But. in all honesty, despite every other possibility he could think of, there really hadn't been much of a choice besides waging a war in and around the surgeon's practice. Leaving earlier wouldn't have guaranteed their escape from Stryker's net. For all Erik knew, it could have very well ended up with them all dead, weakened as they were. As it was Ronin's and Natalie's aid had come in the nick of time, and they were lucky to have escaped at all.

And he was overthinking this, another symptom of his weariness, because no amount of 'maybes' and 'what ifs' were going to solve his problems, no more than staring at himself in the glass was. Pushing his fatigue to the side, where it would obediently remain locked away until he could no longer ignore it and he simply keeled over, Erik straightened painfully, ignoring his body's protests as he made for the stairs. He needed to find a map and Stryker's teleporter. He needed to get back to the facility he and Natalie had come from. With any luck, Charles would have decided to rejoin the waking world by the time he got back, and he could actually begin going about mending everything that had been so utterly and completely broken this past week.

They had put the pieces back together once before.

All they had to do was do it again.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: _I can't begin to tell you guys how SORRY I am for the incredibly unforgivable delay in updating this fic. There really is no genuine excuse for how long I've made you guys wait, and the only explanation I can offer is that I hit a brick wall in so far as where I wanted to go next, and, not being able to smash my way through or swerve around said wall, I had to climb it, brick by painstaking brick. Getting sick again certainly didn't help, and it will forever be a mystery to me how I can escape a flu relatively unscathed but a simple head cold can knock me on my back for days at a time._**

**_That said, I would like to extend an ENORMOUS thank you to all reviewers, readers, favs, and subscribers for your patience. I hope I haven't lost too many readers with this unannounced hiatus, but if I have I'll have no one to blame for myself._**

**_Please enjoy this almost 10,000 word update. I sincerely hope it goes some small way towards making up for my own laxness._**

"I always thought it would be us against the world..."**-Raven Darkholme**

**/Chapter 28\**

**-Choosing Sides-**

Charles had never considered the fact he might encounter someone more overbearing than Raven when it came to his own health. His sister was known for turning into terrifying creature of control whenever his well-being fell under the slightest shadow of doubt, and the pair of them had been at odds over that selfsame subject more times than he could count. Raven, he had learnt, was unmoving on the subject, no matter how ardently or persuasively he argued, but he had not once entertained the idea he might come face to face with a wall just as solid as that his sister could present. He had not, needless to say, foreseen the incredibly pragmatic individual who went by the name of Leonard Carter, and who could rival his sister quite easily when it came to smacking down Charles' every attempt to profess his own wellness.

He had been allowed his pretenses only so long as he it took for Ronin to fully explain the situation, with numerous interruptions and additions from both Raven and Moira as to what had happened. They were leaving something out, the latter two, he was sure of it, both of them shielding their minds against any intrusion he might have perpetrated, but he was content to leave them their secrets for now. Not that he was given much of a choice, for as soon as the MATAHA Agent was done outlining the situation the surgeon had, with miraculous deftness of timing, stormed back into the room and driven all but Raven away. Her presence he had allowed with sullen resentment and a glare that could have rivaled Erik's most baneful expression any day.

Until, that is, he discovered a kindred spirit in her.

As soon as it became apparent that Raven was ready and willing to be his ally in enforcing Charles' bed-rest Leonard had been nothing but amiable towards the shapeshifter, going so far as to offer her a smile that looked both unused and somewhat strained. With the both of them working against him, or _for_ him, depending on one's point of view, Charles had been forced to abandon any ideas of removing himself from the safety of his bed. Although he had been allowed, with a good deal more reluctance than he thought was strictly necessary, the concession of a clean change of clothes. He had tried not to take offense at the way he was bundled back beneath the covers without delay the moment he had completed the far-more-painful-than-usual menial task, but apparently he had not been as successful at hiding his annoyance as he might have wished.

"This is for your own good, you know," Leonard stated sharply, his arms folded across his chest and his face twisted into its usual look of stern disapproval. Unlike Nick, whose mind was a complete void so far as telepathy was concerned, and Ronin, who appeared to have _some_ form of protection, Leonard's mind was a clear spark in Charles own sphere of awareness, even if his thoughts were a lot quieter and more controlled than his often volatile mood seemed to indicate. "After all the trouble we went through to keep you alive, the least you could do is show some gratitude."

"I _am_ grateful," he objected immediately, unwilling to have the surgeon believe otherwise. "I just..."

"Have an overwhelmingly large ego that thinks you can somehow miraculously heal from life threatening wounds faster than anyone else?" Charles snapped his mouth shut at the imperious question, complete with its accompaniment of an incredulously raised eyebrow. "I know you're type, mutant, and I am not at all adverse to chaining patients to their beds if they disobey my orders. _With_ plastic ties, if need be, though I am inclined to believe your metal wielding friend would be unlikely to sympathize with you on this matter." He paused for a moment, before exhaling slowly, and speaking in a slightly softer tone. "The war will still be there to fight in a few days, _when_ you are fit enough to be up and about. There is no need to go rushing into something you are not ready for."

"Very well." He could not argue with that. _Any_ of it, really. He _was_ anxious to be up and about. To find out what had happened to the mutants Stryker had held in his custody. To check up on his own students. To _find_ Hank, one of their own, now in the hands of the enemy. To figure out what Raven and Moira weren't telling him, whatever had happened that they deemed too upsetting to share with him right now. That said, however, Raven and the doctor who had pulled a bullet from his chest had a point, and he would be of no good to anyone if he abused his own body before it was ready to be pushed beyond its endurance for the umpteenth time. His mind had still not completely forgiven him for the maltreatment it had suffered, and he had no desire to rush back into a situation that would have both reminding him of their frailty. "And I am sorry for your loss."

He had not misread that, he was certain, no matter how guarded the look he received in return was. Someone had died during their escape from Las Vegas. Someone this man before him had known well, and, whilst his grief was cloaked beneath a gruff demeanor and a quiet mind, it still existed. There had been a similar expression in the young detective's eyes, his face readily betraying what his mind would not share, and with good reason. Who was to say how many of his friends had died when Stryker's mutants attacked the police station?

"Keep an eye on him, lass." The commanding words were thrown in Raven's direction as the surgeon made his exit, the shapeshifter offering him a wordless noise of acknowledgement.

"You scared me," she said, once they were alone.

"I know." He wasn't going to apologize. Not this time. This was their life now. This constant danger a fact they were all still growing used to, and he could not have been more proud of her for the strength she was exhibiting right now. Reaching for her hand, he gave it a light squeeze as he confessed, "I scared myself."

"I thought..." She frowned at him, her eyes clouded. "For a moment I thought Stryker had us all," she continued tentatively. "We were standing in that alley, surrounded by armed men, and I just _knew_ there was no way we were going to make it out of there alive _and_ free. I almost...I almost didn't want to, because I knew if Erik _did_ anything that little girl was going to die. Then Ronin came, and I dared to let myself hope again, only to learn that Hank..." She stopped, gathering herself together. "I always thought we'd be free or dead, Charles. I never considered what would happen if...if we were caught."

"He needs Hank." The thought wasn't exactly comforting, especially not when he thought of the further reaching consequences, but it was all he had to offer for the moment. "To build him a new Cerebro."

"One tailored to his telepath?" Raven's eyes flashed with fear. "Charles..."

"We're safe, in the Sanctum," he reassured her. "And even out of it...Hank won't give in easily."

"Will he even _be_ Hank when we get him back?" The question was harsh, and she pulled away from him to rise and go stand by the window. For a moment she simply stood in place, leaving him to study the tense line of her shoulders, before finally swinging back to him, her foreign and familiar hazel eyes dark with anger. "Will he even be _anyone_ when that monster is finished with him? I saw the mutants working for Stryker, they weren't even _human_. They killed people and they _enjoyed_ it and some of them even did it willingly. How much twisting does it take to make someone do it _unwillingly_? Angel is dead. Emma is gone. Hank is captured and Charles...Charles, I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"We have to, Raven," he coaxed her gently, holding out a hand and waiting until she returned to his side to take it, perching on the edge of the mattress. "We have to keep going, because if we don't everything we've sacrificed up to this point will be for nothing."

"I don't want to watch you die," she shook her head, her words a whisper. "I don't want to see _anyone_ else die. I'm not as strong as you, Charles, and I don't know if I can still see the light at the end of the tunnel."

"I'm only strong because of you," he stated bluntly, ignoring her look of surprise as he gently tucked the golden strands of her other self behind her ear. "You soften the hardship, remember?" He offered her a soft smile. "None of us alone have the strength to stand up in the face of the hatred the world now holds for us, but look at what we've accomplished _together_. We have friends now, Raven, people who are willing to lay their lives on the line and even stand against others who were once their own just to help us. Leonard and everyone else here are proof that we still have something worth fighting for. A chance of acceptance. I won't lie to you. It may take months. It _will_ take years. It is an advent we might never live to see. But regardless of how long it takes us to make it to where we need to be, if we don't start walking down that path now, when we have the chance, we might find it is no longer there for us to take when we search for it later."

"I've heard all this before," she sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder, mindful of the bandages still wrapped about his chest.

"And you'll hear it all again," he smiled, sensing that the worst of the storm had passed. He had always been far more adept at comforting Raven than he had Erik, and _that_ was a battle that was still to be fought. _Concentrate on this victory for now, the other will come later...Hopefully. _"Until you start to believe it."

"I do believe it," she stated firmly. "I just...forget sometimes. I don't understand how you can stay so hopeful after everything that has happened."

"_Someone_ has to," he teased her lightly, unwilling to admit to how often his own doubts had plagued him of late. He couldn't let himself lose sight of the end goal, however, no matter what obstacles arose in his path, because he wasn't ready to give up on what he had spent most of his life working towards. Admittedly, he had once entertained the hope that the introduction of mutant kind to the word would be a lot smoother than it had been, but now that it had occurred he was not going to step back and let events slide past him without his input. He was a _part_ of this, and he had never been able to separate himself from the world around him. He _couldn't_ give up on it, not when it was such a very large part of himself. "It'll be all right, Raven."

She nodded against him, but was silent, cloaking them both in a veil of comfortable quiet that was not broken until she twitched somewhat uneasily, her next words taking even him by surprise. "If things had gone differently in Cuba," she said suddenly. "I would have left you."

He closed his eyes against the painful reality of that truth, forcefully clamping down on any projection that might have otherwise leaked through his shields. He had been aware of Raven's growing distance at the time. Of her infatuation with Erik's words of freedom and his compliments to her true self, something Charles had never managed to adequately address. _He _hadn't had any qualms with her true form, but apparently he hadn't done a good enough job of broadcasting that wholehearted acceptance, because he had come perilously close to losing not only Erik, but his sister as well.

All because she believed he didn't care for her when she was being herself.

Raven had wanted freedom. The right to just _be_ without worrying about anyone seeing her. About the persecution that even now dogged at their heels. She would have got it, too, had Erik departed and chosen to become the very dangerous enemy to mankind he could have potentially been. But that freedom, like all freedom, would have come with a price, and he had been so terribly afraid he would lose her. Not in the physical sense, but in the much deeper parts of her nature that _made_ her who she was. Raven was struggling with the danger of their current lifestyle, how much harder, how much _colder_ would she have become to survive in the violent world that would have been Erik's choice? She could have been so very dangerous, so very deadly, and he could feel nothing but overwhelming relief that it had not come to that.

"I know," he said simply at last, knowing she was still waiting for an answer. "I hadn't given you much of a reason to stay."

"Us against the world?" She pulled back from his embrace, a small, timid smile curving her lips upwards as she met his gaze. "That was never going to work, was it? The world is too big for even the pair of us to take on."

"Us _for_ the world," he corrected her. "We can't be against something we are a part of, Raven, and we _are _a part of the world, mutant or not. It might just take a while for the world to accept that."

"I'm not known for my patience," she admitted ruefully.

"None of us are, really," he agreed simply. "But I have a feeling if we can hold on just a little longer, our luck might change."

"Are you a fortune teller now too, Charles?" She cast him a sidelong glance, but he merely smiled in response.

"No," he replied calmly. "I'm just hopelessly optimistic."

"Good," she affirmed. "We wouldn't have you any other way."


	30. Chapter 30

"Many will view the compromises that will be made during your negotiations as painful concessions. But why not view them as peace offerings, ones that will provide in return the priceless gifts of hope, security and freedom..."**-King Abdullah II**

**/Chapter 29\**

**-Reconciliation-**

Stryker's teleporter proved to be a great deal more accurate at map reading than Azazel. At least, that's how Erik interpreted the fact that they made the jump from the Sanctum to the cabin in a single flash, without the additional leaps Azazel usually needed to arrive at a destination he had not physically laid eyes on before. Of course, he was assuming that the red skinned teleporter didn't do that on purpose just to unnerve them, like that time he had dangled them all over a cliff-edge for just a brief millisecond before jumping away again.

Not even Charles had been overly forgiving in that particular instance.

"John. All back in one piece I see." Leonard did not appear at all surprised to see them standing in the hallway where they had not been a moment before, ignoring Erik completely as he focussed his attention on the teleporter at his side. "Do those dressings need changing?"

"Nah, I'm good, doc." John waved away the man's suspicious stare. "'Sides, from what Agent Grey told me, I'm supposed to be having an official debrief."

"With _Ronin_?" The surgeon snorted. "Official is not the word I would have used. Run along then, kid. You'll find Ronin in the basement, but you'd better come see me when you're done."

"Sure thing, boss." Offering the man a sloppy salute the teleporter did not hesitate to excuse himself, leaving Erik to stand alone in awkward silence as the grizzled man across from him simply stared him down.

"I suppose you'll be wanting directions to the others," Len sighed at last, already moving in the direction opposite to that which Erik was facing. "You'll want to be heading this way."

Falling into step beside the doctor, Erik took a moment to appraise the man properly, something he had neither bothered nor really had the chance to do since first stumbling into his practice. A lot had happened since then, but the perpetual scowl had not changed in the slightest, nor had its owner's mood once shown any sign of deviating from its irritable norm. The surgeon was one of the first mutant sympathizers Erik had met outside of Moira, and he couldn't have been more different from the metal bender's expectations had he been consciously trying.

"You seem to be handling all of this well," he commented aloud, earning himself a fleeting glance from Leonard as they began to mount the stairs to the second level.

"This?" He waved a hand vaguely at their surroundings. "This is par for the course around you people. Do you want to know what my first brush with your kind was? Mostly, it involved being held at gunpoint and ordered to put a green man's innards back in their rightful place. Fortunately for me he survived, and apparently that was an achievement worthy of being allowed to go on my way."

"So, what?" Erik was confused. He let it show. "You decided the best way to react to that was to open a surgery for mutants?"

"More or less." Apparently oblivious to the incredulity in the metal bender's gaze, Leonard simply shrugged. "Good people will resort to desperate measures when every other avenue is closed to them. I gave them somewhere to go when they needed help. Somewhere where guns weren't necessary, though they still seem to be a popular fixture amongst my patients. Nobody trusts doctors these days."

That last sentence was grumbled in an undertone, signaling an end to their discussion, though, even had Erik chosen to press, they would have soon been interrupted.

"Erik." Moira actually seemed genuinely relieved to see him, her brown eyes warm as they met his own. "We were wondering when you'd get back. Are the children alright?"

"As alright as they can be, under the circumstances." Which was as much as he knew, because he hadn't exactly stuck around to interact with them. "Alex and the others are getting them settled in. I told them to follow when they were done with that."

"You're bringing them here?" Moira looked surprised for a moment. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Whatever we plan next is going to involve these guys, one way or another." He tilted his head vaguely in Leonard's direction. "Alex and the others have a right to be involved."

"Of course. I'm not saying they don't. I just..." She frowned, biting her lip, clearly not willing to say more in front of the surgeon. Erik, for his part, was beyond such compunctions.

"I really don't think we have much of a say in whether or not they're involved, Moira," he answered her unspoken words calmly. She stared at him a moment, clearly taken aback.

"You're the last person I expected to hear that from," she confessed after a beat. "But you're right. I'm just trying to decide whether or not that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"Good luck with that," Leonard interjected blandly. "I've been working with those two for months, and I still have no idea whether they're actually the good guys in all this."

"We don't need good guys," Erik stated. "We simply need people who aren't on Stryker's side." Shifting his focus to Moira, he asked, "Is Charles awake?"

"He is." She did not hesitate to answer him, which was a relief. The last time the telepath had been incapacitated like this both Moira and Raven had been loathe to allow him anywhere near Charles. But then, the circumstances were slightly different this time. "He's been waiting for you to get back."

Stepping aside, she waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the door to his left further along the corridor. It was all the excuse he needed to break away, unaccountably anxious to see his telepathic friend, and see with his own eyes that the unaccountably accident-prone Professor was still, in fact, alive. The sight that he encountered when he opened the door was not entirely unexpected, and even a little amusing when he compared it to the many similar scenes that had once been a regular fixture of his life at the mansion.

Young Emily, it appeared, was just as drawn to Charles as every other child.

The telepath was seated in the center of bed, his legs folded beneath him and Raven acting as a support to keep him upright in the place of the pillows sitting unused against the headboard. His position allowed him access to the bedside table that had been rolled into place without having to reach for it. Or, to be more precise, the plastic chess set laid out on its surface, his young, deadly serious opponent perched on a stool on the opposite side. Somebody had found the telepath a shirt to replace his ruined clothes, which was several sizes too large, and hung low enough across his chest for the gauze wrapped around the stitched wound to show. The sight gave Erik pause for a moment, but he brushed off the brief wave of unease it caused him, stepping into the room with resolute determination.

"This doesn't seem like a fair match to me."

"Erik!" Charles' head jerked up immediately as his gaze sought Erik out, the spoken greeting both warm and sincere, almost an exact echo of that he had received upon his decision to stay and help Charles seek out other mutants before everything fell apart. There was no judgement in that gaze, and there never had been, but for that one occasion when he had managed to evoke anger from the normally mild mannered mutant. "It is good to see you well, my friend," Charles continued, when Erik made no further move to enter the room. "I trust the others are safe?"

Trust. Yes, that was the issue here, wasn't it? It was something Charles had always been too ready to give, and something he had withheld long past the point it had been earned.

"They're fine," he said aloud, dropping his eyes away from that intent stare to rest upon the young girl watching him curiously. "Shaken, but unharmed."

"Thank heavens!" Raven seemed to unwind a little at that admission, the tension holding her rigidly in place fading just a little. "At least _something_ has gone our way." Erik thought they had been extremely lucky, given the circumstances, but he didn't say as much aloud. "You two need to talk," Raven continued, not allowing silence to fall a second time as she met Erik's gaze levelly, her stance on this matter unmoving. Turning then to Charles, she pressed a kiss to her brother's brow, her smile tentative. "I'll be back later. Try not to kill yourself in the meanwhile."

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze she rose and scooped Emily up into her arms, quelling the young girl's slight protest at the interruption as she moved to exit the room. Moira, who had been standing at attention beside the door, shifted instantly to follow her, leaving the pair of them alone.

Erik took a moment then to thoroughly catalogue his friend's appearance, slowly reassuring himself that the telepath was strong enough to participate in the argument he was about to make. Charles endured his scrutiny in silence, no doubt well aware of the brewing storm-cloud of thoughts inside his friend's head. There was no surprise on his face when the metal bender stepped forward abruptly, hands clenched into fists at his sides, face determinedly set into a mask meant to give away nothing, and very nearly succeeding.

"Would you mind telling me," Erik said, voice low and thick with menace. "Exactly what the bloody hell you thought you were doing?"

It wasn't a good idea to approach this particular matter with anger, Erik was well aware of that, but the sooner he got his frustration at the telepath's continued suicidal _stupidity_ off his chest the sooner they could converse on this matter like rational human beings. Or mutants. Whatever. Of course, it didn't help that there was more than one thing Charles had done during this last battle that Erik seriously disagreed with, and apparently Charles was aware of this, for the look he gave Erik was faintly amused.

"You might want to be a little more explicit, my friend," he responded lightly. "I'm not entirely sure what it is I shouldn't have done this time."

"This isn't _funny, _Charles," Erik snapped, forcing himself to still and drop down into the seat set beside the bed. "You were shot! You almost _died_! All because you put yourself in front of a bullet meant for _me_!"

"You're angry at me for saving your life?" Charles' face twisted into an expression of confusion. Erik resisted the strong urge to slap him for it.

"I could have stopped the bullet," he said instead, voice tight. "You didn't have to bloody well try to kill yourself just to save me!"

"_Could_ you have stopped it, Erik?" The telepath's tone was speculative. "Don't forget that I was inside your mind at the time. I know how imbalanced you were, and I sincerely doubt you had the ability to do much of anything at the time."

"And throwing yourself into the line of fire was the best solution you could think of?" Erik demanded harshly.

"I did not say I was thinking any more clearly than you were," Charles defended himself. "It is difficult to fight a battle on two different planes at once. I couldn't let Stryker's telepath win on one, and I certainly wasn't about to let his spy triumph on the other, particularly as it was my fault Orez had the opportunity to do so in the first place. You warned me about him, Erik, I should have listened."

"There are a million things we should and shouldn't have done."

Erik leant back in his chair, scrubbing his eyes tiredly as he fought against the emotional vertigo threatening to overwhelm him. He was just so damned _tired. _Tired of _all_ of this. He was _exhausted _as he could not remember having been in so long, too utterly and completely enervated to even consider re-erecting the walls that had crumbled down around him the moment he realized what he had _done _to these people he was starting to-already _did_-care about so deeply. He knew Charles didn't need to be a telepath right now to see what a mess he was, but couldn't quite muster the energy to care.

"I'm sorry, Erik."

The words echoed in the silence, shattering a truce that had been born without a single word, and leading him reluctantly down a path he was still uncertain he was prepared to travel. To do so meant to trust. To be open in a way he was not truly certain he remembered _how_ to be. To be able to _understand_ what his sole companion was saying. Right now, he didn't seem to be capable of any of those things. He turned the telepath's words over in his head, trying to make sense of what they might imply. His tired mind refused to connect the dots, however, and at last he relented, offering her a hoarse response.

"For what, Charles?"

"For playing right into Stryker's hands, and allowing him just he chance he needed to get to you." Charles shifted uneasily. "I shouldn't have sent you away. It was what they _wanted_, and I _allowed_ it to happen...I'm sorry."

"You were angry with me," he answered in a tone just above a whisper, forcing himself to go on when every measure of self preservation he had left was screaming at him to stop. "And rightly so. I should have told you the truth."

"You should have," Charles agreed softly. "But you had your reasons for not doing so, and I shouldn't have judged you so harshly for them."

"We shouldn't have done a lot of things we did do," he repeated with a humorless chuckle, unable to help himself, for it was either that or shedding tears for all that had been destroyed here. "We screwed up."

"We made a mistake." He had perturbed the telepath, he could see that in the frown Charles was now throwing his way, but he could not summon the energy to retract the statement, no matter how crude it might be. Charles, naturally, was not so willing to let the matter rest. "That doesn't mean we can't rectify it."

"The world doesn't work that way, Charles," he spat back venomously, exhaustion, guilt, and the leftover remnants of fear, of _knowing_ he had not been in control of himself for so many hours, prompting him to utilize the target his friend always so obligingly provided. "You can't just glue the pieces back together and hope everything will be all right! We messed up. We took the wrong turn, and got lost somewhere along the way. There is no _fixing_ this, Charles, no bringing back the people who have died because of Stryker and his bloody son."

"I'm not naïve, Erik," the Professor's soft rebuttal was not the anger he wanted, that he _needed_ to solidify the earth beneath his feet once more. He had failed, and failure almost always met with punishment, something to drag his mind away from the fact he had not succeeded in the first place. He didn't want comfort, didn't deserve it, and Charles was refusing him that which he so desperately needed. "For all that you seem to think otherwise."

"Compared to me?" he laughed. "You might as well be a saint."

"Stop it!" He had finally succeeding in riling the mild mannered man, it seemed, as Charles straightened as much as his injuries would allow, just enough to give him height to stare Erik down. "Stop trying to _make _me hate you! I'm not going to let you accept the blame for this, Erik! I won't _allow_ it. We are all to blame. We _all _made mistakes, and digging yourself into a pit of misery and guilt isn't going to help to fix things!"

"What if I don't _want_ to fix things?" he snapped back, hating the way his voice wavered, yet unable to stop it from doing so.

"Are you running again?" Charles had gone very still all of a sudden, and very quiet. Erik glanced at him, worried by the sudden change, but didn't answer, prompting the telepath to continue. "Are you _leaving_, Erik?"

"Would it help?" He hoped Charles had an answer to that, because he didn't. He didn't have the answers to anything anymore, the _solutions_, and that _terrified _him.

"No." Charles shook her head slowly, and Erik could see the conviction of the mental mutant's belief staring back at him through those intent blue eyes. "Running away isn't going to solve anything anymore, and neither is hiding. I don't know what we're going to do now, Erik. But, whatever happens. Whatever we decide. Whatever comes of that decision. You need to be here for it. You need to see this through."

"It'll end in disaster," he confessed with weary honesty. "It always does."

"And if it doesn't?" his friend questioned him gently. "If this is the one time when things actually work out?"

"It won't."

Charles wouldn't accept that. "But what if it _does_?"

"Charles..."

"Answer me." The psionic mutant's expression was firm, his visage unmoving, and Erik found himself smiling despite himself.

"I'm starting to think that stubbornness is a trait common to all telepaths," he remarked casually, thinking of Emma, and determinedly ignoring the rift that had formed there.

"One I'm proud of," Charles admitted with a tiny smile, which faded rapidly. "Please, Erik, don't go. We're going to _need_ you."

"I couldn't leave now even if I wanted to," he confessed with a sigh. "Not with Hank in Stryker's hands. I'm at least partially responsible for that, and I'm not going to leave you guys alone to clean up my mess."

"Well, thank heavens for that, then." Charles sagged back against the pillows Raven had set for him in relief, looking as tired and sore as Erik was currently feeling. For a moment they remained that way, lost in their own thoughts and taking comfort from the companionable silence. Their apologies had been made and the past set to rest, but Erik knew that was only half the battle. Unless they wanted to repeat the mistakes they had made over this past week or so they needed to address the underlying issues that had _caused_ those errors of judgement. Something had to change, and _he_ was going to have to be the one to initiate that change.

"I need you to promise me something," he said suddenly, shattering the stillness.

Charles, who had closed his eyes, reopened them to study the metal bender's face. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," he answered soberly, gaze dropping to his lap. "We don't seem to do well with promises."

"_I _don't," Erik corrected him mildly. "Your word has never been an issue."

Charles simply frowned, cocking his head to the side as his eyes searched Erik's face. Apparently unable to find what he sought, he spoke aloud, "I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"I'll explain," he offered. "If you answer my questions first."

"A fair trade." Charles looked wary, almost suspicious, but he nodded anyway. "Go ahead."

"If you had read my mind," Erik began. "If you had not consciously been blocking out my thoughts, would you have known I was being controlled?"

"I…"

Charles hesitated, a flash of uncertainty dancing through his eyes, and that was all Erik needed to see to know. To _realize_ what they could have so easily lost, all because he had wanted to keep his thoughts private. Good Lord, Emma had been _right_ to scold him, because all of this was _his_ fault. Unable to stay seated any longer, Erik leapt to his feet, resuming his agitated march back and forth across the room.

"Erik..." Charles sighed as he attempted to raise himself a little higher. By the wince he wasn't quite able to conceal, Erik judged that to have been an ill advised gesture, but did not comment on it aloud. "That doesn't mean..."

"It _does_ mean," he cut the telepath off before he could go any further. "We could have stopped this before it even started, Charles, except that every single one of us was ignoring the one true advantage we had against a telepathic opponent."

"You have a right to your own privacy," Charles stated reasonably, and Erik came to a standstill at the foot of the bed, shaking his head.

"Not at the cost of our own safety, Charles. Besides, you're not Emma, and it is not as though you would use anything you saw against us."

The telepath frowned slightly. "Are you so sure of that?"

"Absolutely." His certainty robbed Charles of any comeback, and he did not hesitate to press that advantage. "Six months ago, you proposed a compromise, Charles. Well, I am asking for another. If you do not feel comfortable reading the minds of the others, reading all our minds. If you honestly believe it is not your right to do so, then I will not force you to. All I ask is that you stop blocking _my_ thoughts."

The psionic mutant frowned. "Erik, are you certain…"

"Of course I am," he cut the telepath off before he could go any further. And perhaps, that small part of him that still thought this was a _terrible_ idea whispered, before he had a chance to change his mind. "Would I suggest it if I wasn't?"

"I suppose not."

Charles still didn't look comfortable with the idea, and so Erik continued, "We _need_ this Charles, you said so yourself. We need _trust. _If this isn't trusting one another, then I don't know what is."

"I'm not sure you understand what you are asking for, my friend," the telepath cautioned him. "You keep things from me, you always have, and it is important to you that you be able to do so. It's your lifeline, Erik, your last form of protection. Are you certain you are ready to forfeit that?"

"I don't expect it to be easy." In all honesty, it would unnerve him a great deal more than he was ready to admit. He had accustomed himself to Charles' occasional intrusions into his mind, but the thought of never having a moment of privacy _was_ slightly daunting. Nevertheless, he had made his decision now, and had every intention of sticking by it. "But neither is what I would ask of you."

"Are you going to tell me what that is now?" Charles queried, tone lightly curious, and deliberately distracting.

"No," he replied simply. "Not until you agree to my terms. If you want to know what _I_ want, you can discover it for yourself. Your fully capable of plucking that information right out of my head."

"Erik..." He had earned himself a look of exasperation now, even frustration, and he reveled a moment in his unique ability to disturb the tranquility Charles clung to with such tenacity.

"Charles," he answered smoothly, levelly, and without blinking.

"You have absolutely no intention of letting this go, do you?" It was meant to be firm, carrying annoyance, but it came out sounding closer to the plea it truly was.

"None whatsoever." He shook his head, firmer in his resolve now than he had been before setting foot in this room. _He_ had been hesitating then, but now that it was Charles trying to avoid this particular outcome, he found himself firmly entrenched in his role as the voice of opposition. Moving back to the side of the bed he reseated himself so as to put them on even footing again. "It's my decision. Besides, it's not like you haven't done this before. You outed Hank the first time we met him."

"That was an accident!" Charles flinched. "I wasn't thinking about it."

"Because he was a stranger," Erik concluded. "And you were not in the habit of blocking the thoughts of strangers, as you proved with me."

"That wasn't so much unintentional as _necessary_, Erik," his friend replied dryly. "You _were_ drowning."

"And this is necessary, too," the metal bender pressed. "I'm not going to lie. It _might _bother me from time to time, but its an assurance we need. Even if it's unlikely Stryker will try to get at us through the same means a second time, it _is_ a possibility, and this is a safeguard against that. You wanted me to trust you, Charles, so I am." He paused then, realization striking him with brutal clarity as he finished, "Why can't you trust yourself?"

"Because I've seen what damage I can do when I get careless with a mind I'm familiar with." Charles' expression was shuttered, the confession given unwillingly.

"Raven?" Erik frowned, certain he had never heard the shapeshifter mention any such event.

"No." Charles shook his head. "She made me promise never to read her mind when we were children. It was, apparently, a wise request."

"Then who?" He was curious now, even as he sensed his prying was not altogether welcome. Well, tough. Charles had pried into _his_ life enough that a little reciprocation seemed only fair.

"It doesn't matter," the telepath evaded his question neatly. "The point is, Erik, that for me to have detected what Phoenix was doing inside your mind would have required a connection close to that which Angel and Emma shared. In fact, their link is most likely the only reason Angel's mind was left alone."

"Are you trying to dissuade or encourage me?" Erik frowned, not comprehending what the telepath was trying to impart. Charles' face twisted into a look of frustration then, as he waved one hand slightly in an all-encompassing gesture.

"It's not...I can't..." He paused, gathering his thoughts before pressing his argument. "Emma tells me I am the strongest telepath she has ever encountered. She was quite grudging about it, actually, but I think she was sincere. I have never really bothered to compare myself with others, especially seeing as, before her, I had not met another mutant with psionic abilities. All I can really say is that there were times when my skills seemed more of a handicap than an asset." He dropped his gaze back down to the blankets then, fingers plucking nervously at the loose threads he found there. "Most mutant abilities, when they first manifest, are sporadic. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't, and there is normally a fair degree of hit and miss when it comes to actually controlling any particular talent. Telepathy is different. It's more like a physical manifestation in that you can't just switch it off. Once it starts, it never stops."

Erik settled back in his chair slightly, folding his arms across his chest as he nodded. "Which is why control is so important."

"Yes." Charles darted him a single, sidelong glance, before returning his focus to the blanket twisted in his fingers. "As a child, I never fully understood the impact of my own capabilities. Hearing voices was...disconcerting, to say the least, but it wasn't too long before I mastered blocking out the thoughts of others, or at least muting them. I wasn't good with crowds, still, and school was close to sheer torture for the first few years, but I adapted. I coped. Having Raven around helped me to learn how to shield myself against others, and eventually I was able to apply the technique used on a single mind to many. I learnt to protect myself, but what I failed to see at the time was the need to protect others. I wasn't...I didn't realize what kind of an effect I could have on people. I knew I could 'speak' in their minds, that I could read their thoughts, and that sometimes I could even make them see things that weren't there. I didn't know I could rewrite the very fabric of their minds. Or destroy it."

"What happened, exactly?" he nudged gently, when it became clear the prompt was necessary.

"My family wasn't what you would call...happy," Charles' expression was indescribable. "We were, I believe, a perfect example of the sad truth that wealth doesn't necessarily bring bliss. My father died when I was fairly young, I don't remember him all that well, and my mother remarried a short while after that. It was not an arrangement that ended well. She succumbed to certain vices and drove herself to an early death a few years later, and that was the end of any kindness my stepfather might have shown me. I wasn't in control enough when my telepathy first manifested to be able to hide it, and, whilst my mother might have been oblivious, Kurt Marko wasn't. He, to put it quite plainly, detested me, and his son, Cain, was hardly any better, further embittered by the poor treatment he himself received. Raven and I much preferred to keep to ourselves, and we did everything in our power to stay away from the both of them. It worked, for the most part, and even when it didn't I was still able to spare Raven most of it. I learnt both the Markos' minds quite intimately during that time. There is something to be said for knowing the mind of your enemy, it gives one a certain amount of leverage when trying to keep your opponent's focus on _you_, and not elsewhere."

Erik didn't really have a response for that, he realized. Fortunately, Charles did not seem to need one.

"We would have been fine, though," Charles continued, staring past Erik at something the metal bender could not see. "I had earned a scholarship to Oxford. A scholarship that would have gotten both Raven and myself away from the Markos and everything else that had anything to do with them. But Kurt...Kurt wouldn't let it come to that without a fight. I was making arrangements for the two of us. I got home late. I hadn't told Raven I wouldn't be there, and she walked straight into the both of them. For once in their lives they were united in a common goal. Kurt didn't want us to leave and neither did Cain, because us leaving meant they would be all the other had. She was...panicked, projecting it for miles, and I wasn't _close_ enough to do anything. Not physically, at least."

And Erik _knew_, suddenly, with painstaking clarity, exactly where this was going.

"It wasn't purposeful," Charles continued, oblivious to his tensing. "I just wanted them to stop. Do you have any idea what happens when you mentally scream at someone's mind to just _stop_? Have you ever felt the sensation of every last function simply ceasing to be?"

"You killed them," Erik stated flatly, without emotion, because what was he supposed to be feeling or thinking right now? He had no idea, and he doubted Charles would be offering any clarification on this particular subject any time soon.

"I killed Kurt," Charles corrected, and the metal bender was somewhat relieved to see a small light of clarity returning to blue eyes that had been lost in the images of the past. "Cain was simply damaged. I'm not sure how bad. I barely waited for the investigation to finish before I took Raven and fled. It wasn't hard to make sure the inspectors didn't think anything of either of us. I never tried to find out what they concluded or what happened to Cain, and I never went back to the Estate. Not until..."

"Us," Erik supplied, remembering his flippant comment on the day of their arrival at the Xavier mansion, and Raven's instant, if surreptitious, interjection. He should have known better than to assume, really. He _did_ know better. But he had anyway.

"I've been careful ever since," the telepath spoke again after an indeterminable period of silence. "Not to get too familiar with any mind. Only plucking information out rather than planting it. Keeping mental conversations to a minimum. It was almost a relief, you know, going up against Emma. She, at least, had the defenses to ensure I didn't accidentally destroy her."

"You've gotten stronger since then," Erik pointed out, shaking himself out of his daze and remembering that he still had a goal in mind. They _needed_ this, whether or not Charles was prepared to admit as much or not, and he was not going to accept any excuse. Not even one quite so earth-shattering as this one. "You're control is better, exceptional, if Emma is to be believe. Besides, if I ever brought harm to Raven you'd have every right to shut me down."

"Don't joke about it," Charles frowned at him in consternation. "It isn't funny."

"No, it isn't." He did not hesitate to agree. "To be honest I wasn't trying to be. She's your _sister_, Charles, your family, whether by blood or not doesn't matter. You did what you had to to keep her safe, and you'd probably do it again if it came down to it. If you had to make a choice between her and Stryker. But that was then and this is now, and I'm _asking_ you for this. I _want_ this. I need to know my mind is safe."

"It won't be safe from me," Charles reminded him, sounding utterly miserable.

"Your strong enough to protect me from yourself," Erik said determinedly, not particularly caring whether that statement made much sense or not.

"And if I'm not?" It was an honest query, not an attempt to put him off, and so he gave it his full consideration before making his answer.

"Then that will be my problem, won't it?" he said with a certain sense of finality. "_I'm_ the one pushing you to do this. If it ends badly, I'll have no one to blame but myself."

"How responsible of you." Charles took a moment to absorb his words, before giving a slow, decidedly reluctant nod. "Very well, then. You win. However, I do have a question for you."

"And that is?" he prompted, feeling a great deal of satisfaction in that small victory at the same time he hoped it wouldn't come back to haunt him. But, _no_. He wasn't going to have second thoughts right now. Not when Charles could very well be _seeing_ them.

"The bond Emma formed with Angel," Charles explained. "It required Emma to actually contact Angel for the two of them to communicate. I believe I can do one better, and make it a more...balanced arrangement."

"Giving me a degree of control as well, you mean?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Charles nodded. "You'd be able to sense me, perhaps even hear _my_ thoughts, and you'd certainly be able to convey your own like we do when communicating over great distance."

"I'm not sure I _want_ to know what you're thinking," Erik retorted dryly. "You _were_ crazy enough to leap in front of a _bullet_ after all."

Charles smiled wanly. "Yes, well, I'm not the _only_ one prone to such suicidal acts."

"No, you're not," he agreed without argument. "But the point is, Charles, you _should_ be the only one who _isn't_."

"Oh dear," the telepath sighed. "This is the promise you wanted me to make, isn't it?"

"It is," Erik said levelly. "I'm not asking you to stay out of danger, I know that is hardly possible as things are now. All I'm asking is that you don't go running straight into it. Not even to save a friend."

"I can't promise you that." Predictably, Charles shook his head. "I can't just leave someone, a friend, in danger without trying to help."

"Then send someone else! Any one of us! You're a damned telepath, it can't be that hard to let someone else know what needs to be done. Just stop throwing yourself into the line of fire! You're too important to us, to _all_ of us, to keep risking yourself like this."

Charles' expression twisted, and Erik knew what was coming long before it was uttered aloud. "My life is no more important than any one of you."

"But it is, Charles." Honestly, for someone so smart this man could be so very, _very_ dense. "That is what you don't seem to understand. You are the one that brought us all together. The one that _keeps_ us all together, despite our differences. Despite everything that points to the fact this alliance should not be flourishing. You _are_ the Institution, Charles. If we lose you, we lose everything."

"You would survive without me, my friend." But Charles didn't sound so certain now, and Erik knew his point was finally getting through.

"_We _would survive," he agreed with a nod. "The Institution would not. Perhaps, in time, you and it will cease to be one and the same thing, but this alliance is too young for that now. It, _we_, need you. Which is why you need to _promise_ me you're going to stop being such a reckless idiot."

Stunned into silence, Charles simply stared at him, and Erik watched with some amusement as the telepath opened and shut his mouth several times without any words being uttered. At long last, however, he managed to collect himself, running a hand somewhat raggedly through his hair as he answered.

"I can promise to try. Is that enough?"

"It will have to be, I suppose," he conceded with poor grace. "Given everything else I've forced out of you, it is probably more than I deserve." He hesitated a moment, before forcing himself to add, "I am sorry for not telling you about Shaw."

"It wasn't Shaw," Charles reminded him gently. "Not really. It was a figment created by Phoenix."

"Created from my memories and expectations," Erik interjected sharply. "She used my own mind against me. If I had let you help...If I hadn't trusted you so little..."

"It's over and done with, and we are moving on," Charles' dismissed his fumbled attempts to explain actions that had made such perfect _sense_ at the time they were being carried out. "There is one thing I would ask, however."

"And what is that?" Instantly suspicious, Erik was nonetheless cornered by the inquiry thrown his way.

"Why are Moira and Raven so determinedly _not_ thinking about Kayla and the others?"

_Oh, dear God_. He had forgotten that. Had forgotten it _completely, _and it was only thanks to years of practice that he was able to keep his face blank, despite the petrified horror swirling in his stomach. How was he going to tell Charles that a small band of imprisoned mutants, none of them anything more than children, really, had put their lives on the line to insure the Estate and those living in it survived? How was he going to explain that people they should have saved had died saving them?

The answer was simple, he realized with a jolt.

He _wasn't _going to tell Charles_. _

He was going to _show_ him_._

"You tell me," he said aloud, lifting his head to meet Charles' probing gaze without wavering.

There was no mistaking the flash of understanding in the telepath's eyes, or the traces of reluctance that followed it, despite everything they had discussed. Erik merely waited, invoking more patience than he thought he possessed, and making sure to keep his mental shields active in full force, so that a simple probe wouldn't reveal what he wanted Charles to see.

He wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting. The bond between Emma and Angel had only ever made him uneasy, and so he had been careful not to dig for specifics about how their connection worked. His only experience with any type of mental connection was the 'voices' of the two telepaths that would normally echo inside his mind whenever either Emma or Charles desired to speak with him. Those voices had always sounded exactly as they did outside the psionic realm, recognizable by tone, accent, and all the other facets that made a person's voice unique. He hadn't realized until now that a person's mere _presence_ could possess similarly defining qualities.

It was those qualities that made it impossible to miss the moment when Charles initiated the mental connection. One second he was alone inside his own head, and the next moment there was _something_ lingering at the back of his mind. A warm, empathic, and calming aura that was unmistakably Charles. It was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. At least, it wasn't until that tranquility shattered, battered apart by a wave of shock and _horror_ that drained all color from the telepath's face as his eyes widened in sharp distress.

"No!" He was on his feet before he was even aware of having moved, shaking the psionic mutant physically and hoping his attempts to do the same mentally adequately conveyed his sentiments. "Don't you _dare_ blame yourself for this, Charles. It was _their_ choice. Don't belittle that by making _yourself_ culpable."

"They were _children_, Erik!" The vehemence of that retort was sharp enough to make him wince, especially seeing as it was echoed by a distinct spike of pain in the back of his mind. "Children who could very well be dead, or _worse_, because of us! Because of _me_."

"_Use _it, then, if you must feel guilty," he ordered firmly. "Make their sacrifice _worth _something. There are others still in Stryker's hands. Phoenix. _Hank_. We can _help_ them."

He could see the telepath's struggle to win back control of himself, could _feel_ it, and he waited, not releasing his grip on Charles' forearms, until the Professor had seized back at least a little of his composure.

"They were just _children_," he uttered helplessly, vehemence buried beneath pained disillusionment. Erik heard the unspoken follow up quite clearly. _How could _anyone_, even Stryker, raise a hand again a _child_?_

"Fear is just as sure a motivator for cruelty as greed," he answered somberly, withdrawing his grip now that he was certain Charles wasn't going to drive himself into a relapse. Not that he was far off from having done just that, pale as a ghost and looking little better than death warmed over for the umpteenth time. "Their motivations might have been different, but, in the end, Shaw and Stryker are strikingly similar."

"And we beat Shaw," Charles recalled, his voice gaining strength again at the revelation.

"We did," Erik stated firmly. "And Stryker won't be any different."

**A/N: Soooo, a couple of things for this chapter. The first being I'm really of two minds about how well I've captured what I wanted here. The whole argument/conversation/debate still bugs me, though I can't for the life of me figure out what my subconscious thinks needs changing. I can only hope I've managed to wing it as well as I seem to have done in past chapters.**

**Secondly, in regards to Charles' backstory. After extensive (read Wikipedia) research I decided to go with the somewhat vague retelling in the X-Men Origins (I think that was what it was called, anyway) series, where it is simply stated that Charles escaped an abusive home using a scholarship to Oxford. We all know the movies are vastly different to the comics, so it leaves a lot of room for creative license. Hopefully, I haven't exploited that too liberally.**

**Cheerio,**

**Cheekyrox.**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: I've let you guys down terribly so far as regular updates go lately, and you've all been so good and patient about it I feel you deserve a full explanation. Real life _has_ been interfering a little bit, but, as I said in the last chapter, I hit something of a wall when it came to inspiration. Normally, this would not be a problem for me, as I've never really had writer's block. Instead I simply jump around my far too numerous projects and come back to the one giving me trouble later. This method doesn't work so well when trying to fit in regular updates, however, and I cannot express how sorry I am for making you all wait so long. You've been really good about reading and reviewing, and you deserve better.**

**On another note, this chapter is actually the last, though I'm leaving the tag as uncompleted in case I decide to add a epilogue (Which would involve a glimpse at where Hank is at, as well as an update on Kayla, Phoenix, Remy, and the others). Any ETA on Act III is just about impossible for me to give. I have bits and pieces of it written, but the whole story needs fleshing out, particularly seeing as a I strayed so far from my original outline in this little beauty.**

**Finally, I have mixed feelings about this one. I'm not sure whether I've pinned any of their reactions quite right, and I'm more hoping than believing that this is an adequate ending for the mammoth this fic has become. Remember, if all goes to plan (Yeah, probably shouldn't have even _thought_ that let alone _typed_ it) this fic will lead on into Act III, so this isn't really the _ending_, per se.**

**Anyway, hideously long author notes, hiatus, and excuses aside, do enjoy, and thanks for coming along for the ride. Your support and kind words are greatly appreciated.**

**Cheerio,**

**Cheekyrox. **

**Quote: **"If you aren't in the moment, you are either looking forward to uncertainty, or back to pain and regret."-**Jim Carrey**

**/Chapter 30\**

**-The Beginning of the End-**

Erik was slowly coming to believe that the sole purpose of Ronin Clinton's existence was to torment him. Not torture, because he had been tortured before and he certainly knew the difference between the true experience and the word so liberally thrown around by those who had no idea what the real thing was like, but _torment_. The man _prattled_. There was no other word for it. He seemed to have absolutely no concept of the meaning of silence, or rather a need to comment on everything he saw, heard, smelt, felt, or tasted, in the past or the present. Erik had not met any other being who grated on his nerves with as much unrelenting aggravation, and he had come close on more than one occasion to strangling the man. He might have even done so, had the MATAHA agent not possessed the foresight to remove even the slightest traces of metal from his person.

It did not help that the two of them had been locked together in a large, but decidedly bare room for the past hour or so. Natalie had not, it seemed, been untruthful when she suggested that the only reason he was not being locked away was because he might still be of use to them. Once his conversation with Charles had ended, and the telepath's self appointed physician had quite loudly and firmly demanded that his patient be left to rest, Erik had been ushered to this room, forced to remain there with his 'guard' until Charles awoke and the full briefing of the situation they had been promised could actually occur.

Which would not have been a problem, had Ronin known how to keep his mouth shut.

There was certainly irony to be found in the fact he would prefer the company of the fiery red head who had point blank told him she wanted to kill him to the affable chatter of her partner. Erik found himself wondering how anyone so obviously flippant ever managed to get themselves employed by an agency so cautiously covert as MATAHA, though he did not realize he had uttered that thought aloud until Ronin replied with the most meaningful statement he had made since he started talking.

"I was handpicked, actually."

"For what?" he answered scathingly, hiding his own surprise that his tongue had somehow managed to outrun his head. Or maybe he could blame that on the distraction of the new presence lingering at the back of his mind? It was certainly an odd sensation, _knowing_ Charles' was asleep simply because his mental presence was muted, but also vaguely comforting. At least this way, he could keep an eye on the telepath even when Charles was out of sight. Heaven knew the man _needed_ looking after. Jerking his attention back to the room he was actually in, he added dryly, "Inane prattle?"

Ronin grinned, actually _grinned_, at the insult, blue eyes brightening with a spark of mirth. The man was an odd combination of competency, flippancy, cheer, and sobriety cobbled together into an indistinguishable mess of a final product he was still having a hard time getting a handle on. Though, maybe that was the reason he was in here. Natalie had already done her part to earn his trust, and he did not doubt that the MATAHA agents _knew_ they needed Erik's approval to forward their plans.

They would not, he thought grimly, find him as easy to manipulate as they hoped.

"That was a part of the reason," Ronin allowed, and Erik didn't know whether to take that statement seriously or not. Sensing his doubt, the younger man continued, "You didn't really think we sent Nat out to make connections, did you? Mutants aren't stupid, Mr. Lensherr, and they certainly aren't without their fair share of wariness. My job is to show them we are trustworthy. That there are some humans in this world that can be depended upon. And I'm _good_, Mr. Lensherr, so very good at what I do."

Yes, he could readily believe that. Constant chatter aside, Ronin had yet to give off an aura other than that which bespoke of trustworthiness. There was just something in his manner, in the easy honesty he offered, even when informing you he had deliberately tranquilized you. Where Natalie exuded danger, Ronin was a more solid, dependable presence, if an irritating one. This man was well practiced in the art of gaining the trust of those who did not easily grant it, but that did not mean _Erik_ trusted him any further than he could throw him. Honest or not, Ronin had as much of an agenda as his partner, and until he knew exactly what that agenda was Erik was reserving judgement.

"What is your stake in this, then?"he said aloud, earning a puzzled look from his suddenly more reserved companion.

"My stake?" Ronin questioned.

"Yes." Erik waved a hand impatiently, in no mood to play games. "Nicholas' reasons for being here are obvious. He carries a nullifier gene, it's not hard to guess why or _how_ MATAHA was able to recruit him to a mutant sympathetic regime. Leonard has had his own brush with mutant-kind, and whilst his reaction isn't exactly what I would call rational, he has a solid reason for being here. For Natalie, this is personal. It's family, and you don't just walk away when someone messes with that. But you? You don't seem to have any reason for being here."

"And that makes you uneasy, doesn't it?" Ronin observed, even as his blue eyes shuttered to take on a more guarded expression. "You don't like it when you can't guess someone's motivations."

He deigned not to answer that oddly perceptive question, simply glaring at the blond man, who seemed wholly unaffected by the sharp edges of his expression.

"You want honesty?" he said at last, with more sobriety than his voice had held thus far. "You want the truth? The brutal and stark facts are that I was offered a choice, one that revolved around serving a lifelong prison sentence for a crime I never committed, or joining a covert agency that was quite possibly going to find itself in a position set to defy the entire world. You're hardly an innocent man, Mr. Lensherr, and I won't do either of us the insult of claiming I was either, but I didn't do what they accused me of. So you see, I understand full well what's it's like to be blamed for something you aren't guilty of. I know what it's like to be _betrayed_. You want to know why I'm here? What 'stake' I have in this game? Purely and simply, I want to make sure at least some of the downright dirty _bastards_ in this godforsaken mess of a world pay for what they've done, and pay _well_."

He ended his embittered, passionate tirade with a note of dark certainty that left no doubt in Erik's mind as to exactly _how_ that debt was going to be met. It wasn't hard to imagine now, how Ronin had so effortlessly pulled so many people to MATAHA's side. No actor, no trained spy could ever so flawlessly render such sharp, twisted emotions with that much exquisite detail. Ronin believed what he was saying, why shouldn't those he wanted to follow him?

Because, that ever wary streak at the back of his mind told him, _no one_ can be trusted.

He needed more than this to know if the man was trustworthy. If _any_ of them were trustworthy. He had tried working for an agency before, and look how poorly that had ended. That these people had a genuine cause was not in doubt, it was their motives he still found himself questioning, and the end goals they were _not _telling him. His opportunity to question Ronin further was robbed from him, however, when the door cracked open and Natalie poked her head inside.

"We're ready for you now," she stated flatly, eyes sweeping over the two men.

"Great." Ronin bounced to his feet, turning to the still seated Erik enthusiastically. "Time to get this party started."

****1****st**** Class****

The room the MATAHA agents had set aside for the coming debate was the largest one in the otherwise modest cabin, decked out with a long table and seats to spare. As per usual, Riptide had been left with the duty of babysitting the students in the absence of other suitable guardians, allowing both Sean and Alex to accompany Azazel and Natalie to what Charles was fairly certain would prove to be an enlightening discussion. Erik had already shared with him what little information Natalie had provided him with in order to prove her and Ronin's genuineness, and followed that with what he had more recently learned from the male member of the duo, smugly making full use of the mental connection he had all but bullied the telepath into forming. Even so, Charles could not quite shake the feeling there was a great deal more to be explained than had already been shared.

MATAHA itself, for one.

How such an organization could have existed without anyone else being aware of such was a mystery he was eager to see solved. Not even the CIA had known of mutant kind's presence in the world, and yet the MATAHA agents had claimed their group had been in existence for much longer than one might have expected. It was not an impossibility, Shaw was proof enough of that, but their lack of any definitive action certainly made them unique. He found himself curiously wondering who had founded the group, if the man was still alive, and if so how difficult it would be to convince either Ronin or Natalie to arrange a meeting. He was so used to clashing with other groups it would have been a nice change to find some allies.

_'Stop wandering.'_

Erik's half hearted reprimand drew him back to the present with a jolt, and he cast a veiled glare the metal bender's way, earning himself a slight shrug in response. Erik had timed his wake up call perfectly, however, because before Charles could say anything the silence was already broken.

"I haven't seen this many people around a table since I last went to my parents' house for dinner."

Smiling broadly, Ronin took his place at the head of the table, flanked by Natalie, whose expression was impassive. The rest of the group, including Nicholas Reeve, Leonard Carter, and Stryker's teleporter, John, were spread liberally around the table, all safely ensconced within their own little spaces.

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid I can't offer the same standard of cuisine. Paper isn't all that edible." With a quick flick of his wrist, a clearly practiced gesture, the agent sent several files skittering across the table, one to each of the mutant representatives, and another to Moira. "Meet your nemesis, the master mind behind most of the atrocities going on that involve mutants lately, and, I'm told, your recent acquaintance; William Stryker Junior."

Leaving his own file untouched, content to allow Erik to peruse the information that would most likely mean very little to him regardless, Charles turned to Ronin in question. "You mean the younger Stryker is in control?"

"And has been for the past five years," Natalie spoke up, brisk control against Ronin's flippancy. "Stryker Junior was aware of the mutant issue long before his father was brought in on the secret by the events directly prior to Cuba. We believe he had a personal encounter with a mutant, though the exact details have never been fully uncovered, which eventually led to his recruitment into MATAHA's sister agency, MEM."

"Why do I think that is not going to be as harmless as it sounds?" Alex muttered, flipping through the pages of his own file.

"Because it's not," Nicholas uttered darkly. "It stands for Mutant Extermination Movement."

"Whoa, _hold_ up a second!" Raven protested. "I thought you said MATAHA was only _watching_ mutants, not planning to _exterminate_ them!"

"_We_ are not," Natalie clarified. "MEM was a contingency plan put in place when MATAHA was first created. At the time, there was some...disagreement on how best to handle the emerging issue. Eventually, MATAHA's creator won the majority of the support needed, but in order to do so he was forced to consent to MEM's existence. If MATAHA is a covert operation, MEM was all but invisible right up until the climax at Cuba, at which point they did not hesitate to make their move."

"In which case we haven't been fighting the CIA at all, have we?" Moira determined, looking troubled by this revelation. "MEM has been pulling the strings."

"Yes and no," Ronin responded, taking the reins back from his partner. "You forget that Stryker Senior was-_is_-an influential member of the CIA. His son did not hesitate to pull him into MEM as soon as pre-Cuba events allowed Stryker Senior access to that information, and together the pair of them managed to incorporate MEM into the CIA's auxiliary agencies. It allowed them greater access to resources, not to mention free rein to do whatever they pleased, more or less."

"Hence the clear amounts of longstanding preparation into the holding and controlling of mutants the CIA appeared to have done," Erik concluded, speaking for the first time as he snapped his own copy of the information shut and dropped it with a definitive slap on the table. He was angry, and worried, though Charles wasn't sure which emotion was the more foreboding. "Apparently, your 'sister' agency was a great deal more organized than you."

"Hey, what can I say?" Unaffected by Erik's scathing criticism, Ronin simply shrugged. "We're on a budget."

"I'm still confused," Sean admitted, frowning at the papers before him in clear bewilderment. "What, exactly, is going on?"

"We may as well start from the beginning," Natalie decided. "For those of you who have not already been apprised of the initial details, in which case I'm afraid I must hope that you have all studied your history, as MATAHA's foundation dates back as far as the American Civil War in the 1860's, where a leading officer reported the distinctly eerie phenomenon that two of his men had taken fatal wounds in battle and lived to tell the tale. So far as we are aware, that is the first recorded mention of mutant kind's existence, and the rediscovery of those historical accounts would eventually lead to the founding of MATAHA, and, by default, MEM."

"MATAHA," Ronin picked up the tale. "Has, for all intents and purposes, existed continuously in much the same form as it is now. We work in the shadows, keep our heads down, and hope that no one ever digs too deeply into what we do. There are rarely more than a half dozen or so MATAHA agents on the roster at a time, and any additional aid we require must be of our own making, which explains the existence of the Sentinels and the Mavericks. MEM, however, is something of a different story. Ever since its founding it has been gathering information on mutant sightings and carefully monitoring any experiments involving mutant kind, devising ways to counter and eventually neutralize any perceived threat. Despite existing, none of those methods had been implemented here in America, until now."

"The change first came about a year prior to Cuba," Natalie effortlessly stepped in as Ronin fell silent. "When Stryker Junior first gained the position of leader in MEM. Up until then the agency had been passively aggressive, readying themselves for war, but never actually in anything more than a defensive mindset. Stryker changed all that. He advocated a far more belligerent method of containment, one that did not wait on the mutants making the first move. A catalyst, rather than a reaction. To those others in the know, his methods were considered over violent, and little consideration was given to his suggestions...until Cuba. It was not the Director of the CIA who pushed to have those missiles fired upon you, but rather Stryker Senior, who in turn was pressed to that point by his son. Cuba was a conflict on two different fronts, between the two sides everyone else saw, and between the mutants and Stryker's followers. Stryker _wanted_ the mutants present that day to retaliate. He deliberately orchestrated the beginnings of a war between mutants and humans, and in doing so he won unchallenged support to implement every last plan he had ever put into place. Ironically, the only thing holding him back right now is his father, who believes mutants might well be used to destroy their own kind. Believe it or not, Stryker Senior is actually the least of your worries. The fact Stryker Junior isn't should give you some insight into just how ruthless he is."

"Then...everything that happened in Cuba was _planned_?" Alex sounded shocked, and it was a state of being Charles was certain most of them shared. They had all believed Shaw was one pulling the strings that day, deliberately attempting to start a nuclear war. What they had not realized was a second puppet master was putting on his own show, and they had unknowingly played right into his hands. In the back of his mind, Erik's thoughts were a churning mass of barely restrained rage and hatred, threaded through with guilt, because the metal bender had certainly not forgotten who was responsible for hurling those missiles back at those who first fired them. He sent what calm he could, knowing full well Erik had never been overly receptive to his attempts at instilling tranquility.

"Down to the smallest detail," Ronin confirmed. "Stryker may be a maniac, but he's also smart. He knew just how large a push was needed to get his way."

"But you're working to undo all that, right?" Sean said uneasily, addressing Natalie. "That's what you _do_, isn't it?"

"Bringing Stryker down won't help unless we can prove he's guilty of something," the red head answered calmly. "He justified firing on you because you were a threat, or so he claimed. We can't undo that evidence, but we can stop what he next intends."

"And what is that, exactly?" Erik inquired, his inner fury just barely showing in his tone.

"We don't know yet," Ronin admitted with obvious reluctance. "All we know is that he has some plan in the making for earning complete public support in his campaign. Right now, the country is torn over this whole thing. He wants to give them a reason to hate mutants without restraint, and he's bound to use those mutants in his possession as a means to that end. James was trying to find out his end goal, but..."

"But he's gone now," Leonard said bluntly, breaking his silence for the first time. "And dead men can't uncover secrets."

"I wouldn't be so sure. James didn't walk out of there empty handed," Natalie said, dropping a sealed vial down upon the table. "I found this in his pocket, and I think it's safe to say he didn't steal it without good reason. This holds the potential to give us the opening we need."

Erik eyed the item dubiously, before turning to the pair. "What is that?"

"A telepathic inhibiter," Ronin answered. "Perfected by use on his own psionic pawn. We're trying to find a way to counter it, but without a telepath there is no way to tell whether or not our countermand will work."

"In other words," Erik stated flatly, before Charles could even open his mouth, accompanying his verbal utterance with a swift mental swat that demanded the telepath's silence. "You want Charles to be a lab rat."

"Yes," Natalie said without compunction. "That is exactly what we want, because it may be the only way we can actually get inside Stryker's facilities."

The silence lasted for only a beat before an explosion came.

"Wait a moment!" Raven stiffened, sitting up straight in her chair. "You did _not_ just suggest what I think you did, did you?"

"There's no way we can get a second plant inside his organization," Ronin pointed out, answering the question the roundabout way. "If we're to have any chance of extracting your friend and the other mutants inside that facility, we need to get _someone_ inside. Stryker has already proved he's prepared for your metal bending friend, Miss Xavier, but Stryker has already mastered one telepath, and he himself is impervious. He won't be as wary of your brother."

"Unacceptable," Erik snapped out curtly, ignoring the wordless protest Charles sent along their mental connection. His turbulent emotions were starting to give the telepath a headache, so Charles reluctantly withdrew, belatedly realizing he was going to have to reconstruct his shields to deal with this new link. It was much harder to block something _inside_ your head than something _outside_ it. "It's not worth the risk."

"I disagree," Charles said aloud, his annoyance at having to take their argument to the verbal plane communicated in the slight frown he sent Erik's way. "Saving those mutants is most _definitely_ worth the risk."

"I didn't say we couldn't save them," Erik hastily backtracked, knowing full well how poorly such an ultimatum had ended the last time they had entered into a similar debate. "Just that we would find a better way."

"This plan isn't in any way final," Ronin interjected calmly. "We only want to see if we can find a way to cancel the telepathic inhibiter. Stryker's trial attempts to protect his soldiers from telepathic assault were a failure, and even the serum MATAHA was able to develop using Nick's genetic code only lasts for forty-eight hours, and its effects decline steadily over that period. The only success we've seen in the field in that regard is Stryker's own protection, and there's no way of knowing why that worked for him and his father. No definite way to insure further success. What's the next best defense against a psionic enemy if you can't protect your own mind? Taking out their abilities, naturally. Even if we decide against using a faux prisoner to infiltrate Stryker's facility, the telepathic inhibiter is still a danger we could potentially encounter in the field. It is ten times more powerful than the generic inhibiter he has used to keep his mutants in line thus far, though it does lack the compulsion affect of its predecessor, and it is designed specifically for those with telepathic abilities. Stryker's first drug muted mutant abilities, we believe this serum may very well shut them down."

"Permanently?" Alex asked uneasily, eyeing the contents of the test tube with newfound distaste.

"We don't think so." Ronin shook his head. "Stryker still wants to use mutants. He won't damage goods he has yet to profit from."

"But there is still a possibility it _could_ have a permanent affect," Moira read between the lines. "And you want to test it on Charles?"

"We know what we are doing, Miss McTaggert," Natalie said, tone frigid. "We wouldn't ask this if we didn't think it was safe."

"Comparatively," Ronin chimed in, earning himself a glare from his partner, to which he simply shrugged. "They have a right to know, Nat. It's _their_ lives that will be most affected, after all."

"_Most_ affected," the woman emphasized in a hiss. "Because this affects _everyone_. You people really can't see the bigger picture in all of this. If we don't stop Stryker, right here, as soon as we can get our hands about his slippery neck, then we are setting a precedent for the treatment of mutants _worldwide_. We can't just _stop_ Stryker, we have to _prove _what he is, or the entire world is going to erupt into civil war."

"Yeah, well," Sean said, waving one hand slightly. "The last time we looked at the bigger picture, we ended up with a mother-load of missiles being tossed our way."

"That wasn't _our_ doing," Natalie bristled, her anger growing into a palpable cloud of tension. "We're asking you to stop the man who _was_ responsible!"

"At great risk," Erik reminded her darkly. "What happens if the inhibiter _is_ permanent? How are you intending to _fix_ something like that?"

_Erik_...His mental admonishment went ignored however, and so he sighed, propping his chin in one hand as he watched the situation dissolve.

"And what do you think will happen if we do nothing?" Natalie shot back furiously. "You can't turn this chance down just because you're too selfish to put one of your own at risk!"

"Just because _you_ didn't hesitate to leave one of your own behind doesn't mean _we _will!" Raven shot to her feet in Erik's defense. "Or have you forgotten that a man is dead because he did what _you_ asked him to!"

"James' choices were his own," Ronin interjected, far more calmly than his partner, but not without an edge of frustration in his voice. "We hardly sent him in blind..."

"You shouldn't have sent him in at all," the metal bender growled darkly. "You should have sent a _team_ in and gotten those mutants out instead of using them as playthings in this game of yours!"

"I already told you why we couldn't do that," Natalie snapped harshly. "He'd only go after others, and we don't have the resources to protect them."

"It seems to me you don't have the resources to do much of anything at all!" Erik was on his feet now as well, anger radiating outwards from his form. "All you're trying to do is manipulate us to do what _you_ should have already done. Stryker should have been taken out _before_ he became a threat, not now that he's trying to bring the whole world down!"

"We are _not_ assassins," Natalie threw back at him, her palms hitting the table with an audible slap. "We don't just kill people because we disagree with them!"

"Well, maybe you should. The world would be a better place."

"The same argument could be made for _your_ place in the world!" the red head snarled, all pretenses of civility long since gone, and not just on her side either. "You've done more damage than anyone else in this room!"

"That's not fair!" Raven objected. "We were pushed into a corner."

"And I'm starting to feel like we're in another one now," Alex added darkly. "What are you going to do if we refuse to do what you want? Lock us up? Use us as test subjects? Find a way to _force_ what you want out of us? Come on, huh, be _honest_."

His question was met with multiple outbursts, the room dissolving into sheer pandemonium. Charles could sense the discontent, anger, fear, and outrage swirling about almost every other member of the party, save Nicholas, whom he could not read at all, and Leonard, who seemed to have withdrawn into his own little bubble of peace, unwilling to become involved in something he had only ever trodden the fringes of before. The others were all equally upset, though some for very different reasons, but he daren't indulge in any mental intervention just yet. Besides the fact it might not be welcomed by some members of the group present, his powers were also only just beginning their recovery, and he knew the risks of pushing too much too soon. He had been walking a thin line when he formed the connection between himself and Erik, he was wise enough not to cross it.

Besides, this exhibition now on display before him was more than just a reaction to what the MATAHA agents had said. Charles could easily recognize the bleed over from the stress of the past week. All the fear and loss. All the uncertainty. All the trepidation of knowing that Hank was in the hands of the enemy. That mutants had suffered trying to save _them_ when it should have been the other way around. It all had to come to a head eventually, and it was more unfortunate than anything else that it had to be now, right when they should have been moving forward again.

Even had he not been without his usual proficiency with his gift, however, Charles recognized this as a situation he could not step in to resolve. He had done that too often in the past without stopping to ask himself _why_ the people he lived with were growing so increasingly aggravated with one another. Maybe if he _had_, maybe if he hadn't been so free with his powers whenever he sensed matters getting out of hand, then things wouldn't have gotten this far. He wanted to help. To _heal_. It was a part of his nature now, that desire to fix whatever he encountered that was broken, but sometimes you had to let others help themselves, and he was realizing that now more than he ever had before.

Some lessons could not be taught.

They had to be _lived_.

The sharp retort of a discharged firearm brought every voice in the room to silence, all of them turning simultaneously to stare at the agent who had mounted the table. Ronin looked angry, understandably so, and did not even flinch when Erik whipped the metal weapon from his hands, clearly having expected that much. Maintaining his stance atop the table, he spoke in terse, clipped tones.

"Shall I send Stryker our surrender now?" he demanded sharply. "Shall I tell him we've given up? That we can't work together and so there is no point fighting against him because we know there isn't any way we can survive this if we stand alone? Shall I explain to him that we are petty and weak enough to let past events that can't be changed affect our chances of averting a dark future? For Heaven's sake, _none_ of us here has a clean slate. Not a single one. We're here because we've done something wrong. Because at some point in our lives it all went to hell and now we have a chance to make that wrong right, not only for ourselves but for hundreds of others who needn't have to suffer. We aren't going to be able to do that unless we pull ourselves together, and if you don't think you can do that then I suggest you walk right now. I know I'm not going to surrender, even if I'm the only one left standing in opposition to Stryker's regime. It's not in my nature to give up, I'm just stubborn like that, but the truth is I can't stop this alone. Natalie and I can't do this alone. We _need _your help, and yes, it _is_ risky, you _could_ die, or any number of horrible things could happen. But the truth is, even if you _don't_ help us, that could _still_ happen. So the real question you should be asking yourselves is whether you want to go down fighting or hiding, because those are the only choices you have."

His speech done, the blond man dismounted from the table, marching straight out of the room without another word. Natalie, looking somewhat pale faced, moved to follow him, but was halted by Leonard's gruff tones.

"Let him go, Natalie, he'll be fine." Turning to the mutants, he frowned as he added, "James was their friend as well, and he _asked_ to be sent into Stryker's facility, the whole thing was his damned idea and the kid was too stubborn to let anyone tell him otherwise. I'm not a mutant, and I can't make your choices for you, but even if those two make their own fair share of screw ups, they always manage to pull through in the end."

Rising, he offered a nod to all those present. "I'm done here," he announced, shifting his focus to Natalie. "Let me know how the vote goes."

The red headed woman offered him a jerky nod, allowing him to leave without protest. The room fell into silence, then, as all those who had left their seats slowly returned to them, and Charles turned to meet Erik's gaze across the table.

_Well_? The metal bender was oddly subdued, he could sense that much, but Erik had gotten irritatingly good at shielding during his stint in the Sanctum with Emma, and anything else was impossible to glean. _Are you done now_?

'_You are _far_ too careless about your own safety_,' Erik retorted, his mental voice sharp, but controlled. '_Do you not realize what consequences there could be if..._'

_Erik_,he interrupted before his friend could go any further. _You made me promise to be careful about my physical well-being. What I risk so far as my mutant abilities go is my own affair. I know you think I need protecting, and maybe you're right to a certain extent, but I can still make my own choices, and this is one of them_.

'_Why do you trust them_?' Erik sounded genuinely puzzled. 'How _can you trust them when they haven't given you reason to_?'

_They haven't given me reason _not_ to, either_, he responded, a small smile curving his lips upwards. _Have a little faith_.

Erik settled back into his chair, studying Charles with a narrowed gaze, before finally, with the utmost reluctance, giving a small nod. That was all the benediction Charles required from the metal bender, a show of faith that had his grin transforming into a full blown smile of gratitude. He _knew_ Erik didn't trust easily, had been battling that tendency to close himself off for _months_ now, and there were really no words to express his relief that he was _finally_ getting through.

'_God, your mind is giddy_,' Erik's telepathic missive was dripping with sarcasm. '_No wonder you make such ill advised decisions so often_.'

_Let's not forget this was _your_ idea_,Charles retorted, taking advantage of the moment of levity, before tuning out of the mental conversation to include those others seated around the table.

"This," he said aloud, breaking the uncomfortable silence he had not even noticed in his distraction. "Is not a decision any one of us can make alone for the others. Whether you want to be a part of this or not is an individual choice, not a group decision."

"Are you saying you want to split up the Institution if we don't agree on this?" Moira asked, clearly anxious at the suggestion.

"No." He shook his head, quickly dispelling that belief. "We'll still be what we have always been, but the amount of danger you choose to face is entirely up to you."

"I'm not so sure it is," Sean observed in one of those rare moments of insight he sometimes fell into. "I don't think it's how _much_ danger we face, but _how_ we choose to face it that is the decision we have to make."

"Well," Alex gave a sheepish shrug. "You guys all know I'm one for the direct approach, and I certainly don't intend to sit around here doing nothing whilst Stryker's got his hands on Hank. At the very least we need to rescue the Bozo."

"You're going to do this with or without me," Raven said, sounding discontent, and more than a little worried, but determined nonetheless. Out of all of them, she had perhaps grown the most over the past few months, and he could not have been more proud of her. "I've learnt its better to choose 'with'."

"Moira?" Acutely aware of the fact the former CIA agent had yet to give her answer, Charles turned to her. "Are you with us?"

"I want to be, Charles," Moira hastened to speak. "Believe me, I _want_ to be, I'm just not so sure I _should_ be."

Frowning, taken aback, he pressed, "Why not?"

"Because I was a liability on the mission to Stryker's facility," she answered him levelly. "And I'll be a liability again. I'm not a mutant, Charles, and I can't fight like you guys can. Guns...well, they don't really stand a chance against most of the things you guys can do. I'm not saying I want to leave you in the lurch or anything, I just don't think I can be a part of this anymore. Now when I'm putting you all at further risk."

"MATAHA would take you," Natalie interjected into the hush that had fallen. "You wouldn't have to be in the field. We could use your insight into how the CIA operates, and maybe you could act as a go between for this," she gestured with a hand at the gathering. "We clearly need some form of mediation beyond Ronin's firearm."

"And what about you two?" Nicholas, who had remained largely silent up until now, directed the attention of the room onto the two teleporters. "Are you in or out?"

"You guys got Emily out of Stryker's hands when he would have used her against us," John uttered with quiet sincerity. "You've earned a chance, at the very least."

Azazel's response was dark smile that was more a baring of teeth than any expression of emotion, the red teleporter's craving for violence meaning he would follow where they led willingly if it led to conflict.

"Then...it's agreed?" Natalie ventured cautiously. "We work together to bring Stryker down?"

"It's agreed," Erik confirmed, speaking for all of them, though no one objected to his taking charge. "But we're going to need more of a plan than just _this_." He pointed at the vial still resting innocuously atop the table, earning himself a slow, sly smile from Natalie.

"Oh, believe me," she said. "The plan is _much_bigger than just that."


End file.
